


What Remains

by SasuNarufan13



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bigotry, Dark Thoughts, Deals with sensitive themes, Description of wounds, Drama, Established slash, Form of breakdown, Foul Language, Harry's POV, Lemon, M/M, MPreg in later parts, Not Epilogue Compliant, Not meant to hurt or offend anyone, Quite a heavy story, Reference to Torture, Self-Esteem Issues, Slight panic attack at the start of part 5, Very insecure Harry trying to cope with the changes, a lot of it, birthday fic, conflicted feelings, permanent disfigurement, some violence, time skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 36,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SasuNarufan13/pseuds/SasuNarufan13
Summary: Harry never realised just how much of an impact looks have until one attack changes his life forever.





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This is a birthday fic for SasuNaruGaaraIta! Happy birthday, sweetheart!
> 
> Also yes, as my time management seriously sucks lately and I've been busy with studying and helping out in the household, I didn't manage to finish this fic as a oneshot *pauses* Which means that this fic will have at least one more part, if not two depending on how much my brain screws me over. So yeah.
> 
> HEED THE WARNINGS!
> 
> I don't want to offend or hurt anyone with this fic. It contains sensitive themes. This fic will deal with a rather heavily scarred Harry and how he tries to cope with it. I try my best to keep it realistic, but I don't have any experience with it and I hope I won't hurt or offend anyone with this.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> Dedicated to: SasuNaruGaaraIta
> 
> Without further ado, here's the first part.

_Part 1_

Emerald green eyes glanced with slight exasperation at the blond haired man leaning against the cream coloured wall. "Why are you sulking?" the dark haired wizard asked dryly and threw his damp towel on the floor in favour of pulling on a faded pair of blue jeans.

"I am not sulking. I'm _miffed_. There's a difference," his blond companion sniffed and crossed his arms in front of his chest, scowling at the man leisurely looking at the neatly folded shirts in the wardrobe.

"And why, pray tell, are you miffed?" Harry inquired and bit his lip, tilting his head a bit to the left while he tried to decide whether he should select the light blue shirt or the maroon coloured one.

"Because you did nothing to deter that flirting of that miserable prick who seriously needs some tanning advice!" Draco spat annoyed.

Harry shifted his eyes from the two shirts to his lover in surprise. "Flirting? Draco, what on earth are you rambling about? He wasn't flirting with me," he remarked confused and then hummed when he finally chose the light blue shirt.

When he turned his attention back to Draco, he was just in time to see the Pureblood rolling his eyes in disbelief.

"What?" Harry frowned and shrugged on the shirt, easily slipping the buttons through the narrow holes.

"How could you be so daft? That guy was definitely flirting with you and you're telling me you didn't even realise it?" Draco stared at him as if he was a hopeless idiot.

Harry made an impatient sound and sat down on the bed to lace his shoes. "Look, let's pretend that he was indeed flirting with me." He had to hold back laughter at the thought that Michael was flirting with him; he really wasn't the man's type. "It's not like I would ever give in to him. I have you, remember? Besides, I very much doubt he was interested in anything else than my fame."

That was what most of the people were after who tried to capture his attention long enough to talk to him, anyway. All they could see was the famous Boy-Who-Lived-Twice; they didn't care about who he was, just how much money they could get from him and his fame that would hopefully rub off on them if they stayed near him long enough.

"Have you looked at yourself in the mirror? For Merlin's sake, it's not like you're ugly. You attract far too much people with your looks," Draco fussed and he looked quite annoyed. He would probably start tugging on his hair soon.

A chuckle couldn't be contained and Harry stood up, sauntering over to his lover. "All right, what do you want me to do about these people who – according to you anyway – are flirting with me? It's not like I can stop them from doing that. It's not like I'm encouraging them," he pointed out calmly.

"Stop being so beautiful and they might back off," Draco groused out and his steel grey eyes sparked.

Harry laughed and shook his head in disbelief. He knew he wasn't ugly, but it wasn't as if he was as handsome – or as beautiful as Draco insisted on using – as his lover insisted. His hair resembled a bird's nest more than normal hair; he was still fairly thin, despite the layer of muscles he had managed to build up through his training and job as Auror and no potion had managed to cure his bad eyesight, so he was still forced to wear his glasses. The only remarkable feature about him, he admitted, were his eyes. He could admit that those were special; aside from pictures of his mum, he hadn't encountered anyone yet who had the same shade of green as he had.

Overall, though, he was plain looking and he never understood why Draco thought that people were attracted to his looks instead of his fame.

He linked his hands around Draco's neck and raised a bit on his tiptoes to deliver a soft kiss on pale rose lips. "But if I wasn't beautiful, how would I ever have attracted your attention?" he teased.

Strong arms slipped around his waist to pull him closer and he grunted when their hips connected. "Your looks are a nice extra, but it's your wit that charmed me. Amongst many other things," Draco breathed out and claimed his mouth in a harsh, passionate kiss.

Harry moaned in surprise and opened his mouth as soon as he felt an insistent tongue pressing against it. He could practically taste the jealousy coating Draco's lips and he relaxed, giving over control to the blond. Draco, who was often still quite insecure of his place in Harry's life due to the war, tended to have quite a possessive streak. Harry didn't really mind that; as long as Draco refrained from hexing people he thought were flirting with Harry, the dark haired man could deal with the fact that the Pureblood was more prone to jealous fits than Ron was when a bloke tried to flirt with Hermione.

A small part – something he would deny ever existed – of him felt flattered that Draco thought he was worthy of becoming jealous over. Draco's possessiveness even gave him some sort of thrill and he loved the moments when the blond showed him just who he belonged to. He would never admit that aloud, though; Draco's ego certainly didn't need more inflating.

"I'll be back in a few hours, okay?" Harry murmured, when he pulled back with a soft gasp.

"Or you could stay in," Draco remarked and looked suggestively at their bed.

The dark haired man grinned. "As much as I'd like to do that, I can't," he said ruefully. "Seamus is only in town for today and he wanted to go for some drinks before he has to take his next international Portkey."

"If he doesn't blow himself up," Draco muttered darkly; a light sneer lingering around his lips.

Green eyes rolled, but Harry didn't deign it worthy of a reply. It wasn't as if Seamus was that bad anymore.

"Do you have to dress up so nicely for just a few drinks with that nitwit, though?" Draco demanded and frowned severely.

An exasperated sigh left him. "It's just a shirt and jeans; there's nothing nice about this outfit," Harry pointed out and pocketed his wand.

"You could wear rags and you'd still look great," Draco grumbled, but he finally seemed to give up on the argument.

Harry snorted and shook his head; as much as he'd love to argue about his clothes with Draco, he was pressed on time and if he didn't leave now, he would be late.

"You really don't believe me when I say you look great, huh?" Draco murmured and when Harry chanced a glance, he felt his cheeks heat up a bit at the sight of burning grey eyes. A dark smirk curled up the corners of Draco's mouth and he pressed a harsh kiss on Harry's lips before he muttered, "That's all right; I'll show it to you when you come back."

"Sounds like a plan," Harry retorted weakly; his mind already conjuring up ideas of what they could do once he was back.

Draco's deepening smirk said he knew exactly what Harry was thinking about and the dark haired wizard huffed before hastily leaving the room.

Merlin knew he wouldn't leave the house at all if he stayed in the room any longer.

* * *

"I'm so glad we could meet up tonight," Seamus grinned and waved exuberantly at the people in the bar; some of who laughed and waved back before the door fell shut behind them.

Their breath left them in the form of white clouds; snow was slowly falling down around them and Harry stuck his hands deep into his pockets, grateful for the Heat Charm he had remembered to cast on his clothes before he left the house. To make up for not having had a white Christmas, Mother Nature seemed intent on putting all the snow in January now.

"Me too, it was great to see you again," Harry smiled and their footsteps created almost inaudible 'crunch' sounds as they walked over the snow covered sidewalk. "What time do you need to take your Portkey?"

Seamus grimaced, wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck. "At four o'clock in the morning," he groaned. "I fucking hate time differences."

Harry grinned and clapped his friend on his shoulder. "Well, you were the one who chose this job."

"Shacking up with Malfoy seems to have stolen your sympathy," Seamus complained, but his eyes glittered amused.

"I'm plenty sympathetic," Harry snorted and his grin widened as he continued, "My sympathy just ran out for this week."

"Oh, it's like that, is it?" the Irish wizard laughed and shook his head.

"Potter!"

Harry turned around, curiosity peaking at hearing his name coming from an unknown voice. A person, whose face was mostly hidden by a large hood, came to a stop a few feet in front of him. Harry frowned, wariness filling him at not being able to see the person's face and asked tentatively, "What can I - "

The person's hand suddenly shot upwards and the sound of liquid sloshing had Harry instinctively raising his arms and opening his mouth to cast a Shield Charm. Before his shield could rise up completely, the unknown liquid hit him in his face, splashing apart on his cheeks, nose and forehead as he clenched his eyes shut in reflex.

For the first few seconds he felt nothing, only the liquid dripping down his face and he heard Seamus shouting next to him.

Then the burning started, fire eating away his flesh, digging deeply into his bones and he screamed, screamed and screamed as pain, hellish pain like he hadn't experienced ever before set his entire body on fire; his fingers desperately wiping over his face as he tried to get rid of the liquid.

But then the fire seemed to get worse, like a hellish inferno; the pain making his nerves scream in outrage, and everything went black.

* * *

His entire body was numb.

That was the first thing he became aware of when the blackness receded and he slowly became conscious again.

The second thing he became aware of was the sensation of having something pressing down on his face; it felt like a mask had been placed on his face and he was perplexed. Why would he be wearing a mask?

Where was he?

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?" Hermione's concerned voice filtered through the fog in his brain and he blinked.

A white blur greeted him when he opened his eyes and he blinked harder until his sight cleared up enough for him to see that he was staring at a white ceiling. Slowly he turned his head in the direction of Hermione's voice, feeling disconcerted when he still couldn't feel anything, not even a slight twinge in his neck.

"'Mi-one?" he croaked out. "Whe-where 'm I?"

"Saint Mungos, mate." That was Ron leaning over him; his freckles stood out sharply against his ashen skin. "How are you feeling?"

"I … don't kn-know," Harry struggled to say and frowned. "Wha-what happened?"

"I'll call the Healer," Hermione muttered in a choked voice and hurried out of the room.

"Ron?"

Stating that the ginger haired man looked uncomfortable was an understatement. "What do you remember?" he asked carefully.

Harry blinked and tried his best to recall what had happened. It had to have been something bad for him to have landed in the hospital, but he hadn't been on a mission, so how …

He inhaled sharply when memories of the attack suddenly broke through. The mysterious person who had called out to him … The searing pain that had exploded when the unknown liquid had hit him in the face …

His screams of agony echoed in his mind and he swallowed, fingers flexing against the rough sheets.

"I – was attacked," he replied haltingly; recalling all too well how his skin had burnt and hissed as if it was being boiled. "But – I – I don't know who did it." Seamus had been shouting, maybe had even used spells, but that he couldn't remember. "How – I got hit by a potion. What did it do?"

Ron opened his mouth, but nothing came out except for a strangled choking sound and he stared helplessly at the dark haired wizard.

"Ron?"

"Mister Potter, it's good to see you awake." A Healer, a greying man with a bushy moustache, entered the room; sharp dark eyes studying Harry intently. "How are you feeling?"

Hermione slid next to Ron, grabbing his hand, as she smiled rather watery.

"Honestly? Numb. I can't feel anything," Harry answered; green eyes shooting back and forth between his friends and the Healer. "And is there some sort of mask on my face?"

"Yes, there is," the Healer replied, halting at the foot end of the bed. "My name is Mark Calling and I treated you when you were brought in, which was three hours ago."

"Three hours ago?" Harry repeated alarmed. "Shit! I told Draco I'd only be away for a few hours."

"I already sent him a Patronus. He should be on his way," Hermione said soothingly, but her free hand was twisting itself around a fold in her skirt, belying her calm façade.

"Can I leave soon?" Harry directed his question at Calling, who stilled. "I remember being attacked with a potion, but I still don't know what it did."

"You haven't looked at yourself yet?" Calling questioned; something indescribable stirring in the depths of his eyes.

"No, I haven't. I just woke up. Why?" Harry asked apprehensively; worry stirring like a hungry lion inside him. What kind of odd question was that?

"It – I thought it was better if you explained everything first," Ron muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing oddly at the Healer.

"That is for the best, yes," Calling agreed calmly and sighed. "Mister Potter, what I am about to say – it's not easy."

"Okay?" the dark haired man said uncertainly, already not liking the direction this conversation was going in nor the way Ron and Hermione were suddenly avoiding his eyes.

"You were assaulted with the Acidus Perpetuus potion. We gave you Pain Soothers to combat the pain, which is why you're feeling a bit numb now," Calling started and apprehension lurked in his deep voice. "I'm not certain whether you know this potion, but the potion is meant to resemble acid with the same effects."

His heart stopped. White noise filled his ears and he saw Calling's mouth moving, but he couldn't hear what he was saying.

_Acid_. His heart started beating rapidly, harshly, like he was running for his life. _Acid_. The white noise receded slightly, loud rushing of his blood replacing it; other noise muted as if he was swimming underwater. _Acid_. His body flashed hot, cold, hot, cold, back to hot and then cold again.

Then, as if he was breaking through the surface of the water, sounds exploded around him, his ears ringing from the assault.

"… were fortunate that you covered your face with your arms, because it could have ended much worse," Calling was saying, tapping a quill on the parchment in his hands. "The potion hit your face partly, so the damage was secluded to - "

"How long before I'm completely healed?" Harry interrupted him; voice rough and scratchy.

_Acid_. That was why he was wearing some sort of mask, wasn't it? What was the mask doing? Compressing his skin? Infusing his skin with the antidote? How bad was it? It had felt like his entire face had been on fire, the agony too unbearable to describe.

A choked sound escaped Hermione and there were tears spilling over her cheeks when Harry darted a glance at her.

_Shit._

Something akin to pity flashed across Calling's face and Harry's stomach cramped up. Pity was never good.

"I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but there is no antidote for this particular potion. We can apply – and have applied – potions on the affected area to close the wounds in order to prevent infection, but the scarring – the scarring is permanent. I'm sorry," Calling spoke and he sounded sincerely apologetic.

_Permanent scarring_. _No antidote_. The words bounced through his head as he tried to make sense of them and a lump started to form in his throat, making it harder for him to breathe.

"Let me see," he rasped and anger slipped through the cracks, lightning him up, when the others visibly hesitated. "Let me see!" he snapped, but panic was already pushing away the anger, slipping its treacherous arms around him, squeezing his chest tighter and tighter.

Calling inclined his head after a short pause and conjured a handheld mirror out of a piece of parchment. Hermione took it over from him and stepped closer to Harry, holding the mirror in front of his face with a trembling hand.

"I know it looks bad, but the most important part to remember is that the potion didn't manage to reach your bones," Calling said calmly. "The damage is contained to the upper layer of your skin. If it had affected the bones in your face, you might not have been able to lead a normal life. The scarring is mainly superficial and while you might need to take a potion once in a while to soothe possible flare ups of the pain, you will be able to go through life like you're used to."

They were empty words. Calling's reassurance was useless. What did it matter that the scarring was superficial? What did it matter that it wouldn't bother him too much in his daily life when he looked like – like – like …

_A freak_ , a dark voice in the back of his mind pointed out and he wanted to scream but nothing came out except some strangled whimper as he stared with growing horror at himself in the mirror.

The tip of his nose looked mangled, as if a part had melted away, taking a part of his left nostril with it. It looked somewhat flattened and shone a bright red as if the top layer of his skin had been scraped off. His scar – the proof that he had survived Voldemort's attack all those years ago – wasn't recognisable anymore. It was hidden in a mess of shining red tissue; skin mangled as if someone had pinched his skin together and spelt it frozen like that.

His cheeks had suffered the most underneath the attack. It looked like his skin had been melting off, dripping down until it was forcibly shoved back against his face. There was some sort of dent right underneath his right eye as if a small chunk of flesh had been torn off. His left cheek looked like the skin was bunched up, creating strange, small folds; shining red and pale skin tone mixing and clashing with each other. His right cheek didn't have any folds but a large patch of shining red tissue glared back at him, as if the skin was scraped, revealing the tiny blood cells underneath.

His neck bore some smaller reddish patches, but none as severe as the one covering his right cheek.

His mouth and eyes had survived the attack unscathed and something in him broke.

"I know it must come as a shock, but you were actually lucky that the potion didn't have the chance to reach your bones," Calling said softly, as if that would make it all better.

As if that would make up for the fact that he would look like _this_ for the rest of his life.

Ice replaced the blood in his veins as realisation dawned on him that he would never look the same again. This, this face that was staring back at him from the mirror – this was how he was going to look like for the rest of his life.

There was no longer smooth skin greeting him; now it was nothing more than a molten, shining red mess, frozen like that forever; his unblemished eyes and mouth looking tauntingly out of place in the scarred mess that was his face now.

He would never … he would never …

A hysterical chuckle was torn out of him, causing Hermione and Ron to stare at him alarmed, as a dark thought shot through his head: now Draco wouldn't have to worry anymore that people would try to seduce Harry. There was no way anyone would want –

His breath hitched and a different sort of pain exploded in him as the image of Draco fixated itself in his mind.

_Draco._

How was Draco going to react? He had never missed a chance to tell Harry how beautiful he was, how alluring, how mesmerizing.

What was his boyfriend going to think when he saw how Harry looked like now? Would he still want to be with Harry now that he looked like this? Now that he was no longer beautiful?

Would he still …

The door slammed open; the window trembling with the force.

Grey eyes met green ones and widened.

The last pieces that had been holding Harry together shattered.


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: I think this fic can officially be added to my short list of most difficult to write fics .-. Took me nearly a whole week to finish this chapter *drops down* I guess you could say we delve more into Harry's thoughts this time. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments! I really appreciate them!
> 
> Warnings: angst; time skip; insecurity; self-esteem issues; dark thoughts; conflicted feelings
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_Part 2_

He never realised how much attention people paid to looks, how they reacted to someone's appearance.

Until now.

Now he saw it in the way his colleagues winced whenever they looked at his face and hastily averted their gaze as if they could pretend nothing was wrong if they just didn't have to look him right in the eyes.

He realised it when passer-by's gaped at him, abruptly coming to a halt when their gaze fell on him before their faces flushed in embarrassment and they hastily started walking again, giving him a wide berth – as if how he looked now was contagious.

He noticed it when sometimes small children would stare at him wide-eyed, pointing at his face before loudly asking, "Why is that man not pretty?" as their parents reddened and dragged them away, hissing at them that it wasn't polite to say such things.

It was the sympathy in their eyes, the mournful shaking of their heads, the mixture of disgust and pity lingering in their eyes and around their mouths. The shock going through their bodies when they first laid eyes upon him.

The effort some went through to not have to look at his face.

It was painfully obvious when people who just a few weeks before had been laughing and touching his arms and hands freely now turned their faces away, chuckling uneasily as they told him in an apologetic tone that no, they couldn't go out for lunch or a drink, because well, you know how it is, so busy!

Apparently Draco had been right that some people had been more interested in his looks than his money – it didn't make him feel better.

"I finished my report of the theft in Wood Green," Harry said, handing it over to Kingsley.

The man grunted and quickly browsed through it. "It wasn't a difficult one, I take it then," he smiled wryly; tiny wrinkles appearing next to his eyes as he glanced up at Harry.

The older man was one of the very few people who could look Harry straight on without flinching or pity flashing up in his eyes. Harry was pathetically grateful for that.

"No, the thief was clumsy and left a lot of evidence behind," Harry snorted, shaking his head. "It didn't take long to track him down."

"Nice work." Kingsley nodded approvingly and placed the report on a pile next to him on the desk. "You're going to work on something else or are you heading home now?"

Harry offered a weak, lopsided smile; ever since the attack he couldn't smile widely without his marred cheeks protesting fiercely – not that he had smiled much lately. "Heading home," he replied and shrugged half-heartedly. "I've finished my reports for this week and Ron has been subtly hinting that he wants to go home sooner tonight."

"Date night?" Kingsley questioned amused.

"Yep, so I'm wrapping up for today before he becomes even more subtle." Harry rolled his eyes.

"Go on then. I'll see you on Monday; you aren't scheduled for this weekend, right?" Kingsley frowned, tapping his fingers on his desk.

"Not this weekend, no."

"All right then, enjoy your weekend."

"You too, sir." Harry nodded and exited the room, looking resolutely in front of him to avoid seeing the pity on Larissa's face, Kingsley's secretary.

Several of his colleagues were still at work, because it was barely five p.m. but their conversations stilled when Harry passed their open offices and resumed as soon as he was out of their sight – no doubt were they trying to figure out why he was still working here instead of shutting himself in in his house. That wasn't paranoia talking; just two days ago he had caught Brendan and Kathrine right outside Kingsley's office, telling each other they would rather lock themselves up in their home instead of showing their face in public if they looked like Harry. They had shut up immediately as soon as they had realised Harry had heard them, a guilty flush on their cheeks, and had hurried away, as if that would undo their gossip.

He had never been close with either Brendan or Kathrine despite being close in age, but that hadn't made their callous remarks hurt any less.

He was aware how he looked like; his disfigured face stared back at him every fucking morning from the only mirror Draco hadn't allowed him to smash when he had become lost in a rage one week after the attack and had went on to destroy the couple of mirrors present in their house.

The mirror in the bathroom – the square one that Draco had always considered too small to act as a decent mirror – had been spared from his rage because Draco had cast several Permanent Sticky Charms and Unbreakable Charms on it, stating that the mirror wasn't the enemy.

Harry hadn't talked to him for four days.

His relationship with Draco … If he had to be honest, he didn't know what they were doing now. They were suspended in some sort of limbo, tiptoeing around the important issues, desperately trying to act like nothing was wrong.

Harry was just waiting for the moment when Draco would realise that he could do much better than an ugly freak who flinched every time his lover attempted to touch him.

They hadn't kissed once since Harry had woken up in the hospital; there certainly had been trying on Draco's side, but Harry … He couldn't do it. He knew his mouth had remained unblemished, just like his eyes, so they could kiss, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it. Because Draco was still with him, had chosen to stay with him, feverishly swearing he wouldn't leave Harry, but what if he realised just how broken Harry really had become when they kissed and he felt the odd ridges and too smooth skin touching his own unblemished one?

The odd reddish patch on his right cheek could be ignored, he supposed, if they closed their eyes, but his left cheek – there was no way to avoid the folds that had formed on that part of his face. The bunched up skin felt alternatingly rough and smooth, depending on where one touched it. Like the skin was both too dry, brittle, and yet too smooth, too much feeling like oil at the same time. The folds stuck out slightly and Harry could see them in his peripheral vision if he focused on them.

There was no way to ignore those; especially not if they kissed.

But they couldn't go on. Not like this. Not when Harry both craved and feared Draco's touch; afraid that the moment Draco really came in close contact with the fucked up thing that was now his face he would realise just who exactly he had promised to spend his life with.

Draco had always loved beauty, no matter in which form it came in. Whether it was people, – as evident by the partners he had taken in the past – clothes, paintings or decoration, Draco loved to surround himself with beauty. The blond had proudly shown him off in front of his parents, at Ministry balls or private Pureblood gatherings, smugness radiating from him at being the one who could call himself Harry's partner, proclaiming boldly that there was nobody more beautiful than Harry.

Harry was no longer beautiful.

So where did that leave him in Draco's life?

"Harry, mate, you're okay?" Ron asked concerned and Harry blinked, resurfacing from his dark thoughts.

"Yeah, sorry, just lost in thought," he smiled weakly and the look on his friend's face told him clearly he didn't believe his bullshit, but would let it go for now.

"Mum's wondering whether you're stopping by this weekend," Ron mentioned, voice purposefully neutral. He was cleaning up his desk, half-heartedly shoving unfinished reports into his drawers, keeping his stance casual.

Something in Harry throbbed. "Who's going to be there?" he questioned, locking his own drawers.

"Well, Charlie is back for a few days from Romania and George was thinking of popping in for a few hours if it isn't too busy in his shop," Ron answered lightly and then paused, before continuing too casually, "Ginny took a week off from her training and she said she'll be there too."

Harry stilled; his stomach churning at the mention of the ginger haired woman. "Sorry, Ron, but Narcissa's been hinting that she wants me and Draco to visit again. It's been a while," he said, plastering on a fake, light-hearted smile, and waited right outside their office for the other man to finish with locking up.

Ron deflated. "That's too bad," he sighed. "Well, I'll tell mum; she'll understand. You might want to watch out that you won't get hexed by Ginny, though. She's hellish when she's disappointed," he joked, closing the door behind him. "She's been looking forward to seeing you."

_No, she hasn't_ , Harry thought morosely, but knew better than to voice that aloud.

After he and Ginny had decided that they were better off separated than together – their arguments had been explosive to say the least and they were both too stubborn to admit when they were in the wrong – they had become friends again after a while.

She had visited him once when he was in the hospital after the attack and she hadn't been able to look at him after the first initial glance, flinching slightly every time her gaze fell on him. You'd have to be completely blind and clueless to not realise how uncomfortable she felt around him now. That hurt quite a bit; he knew that the way he looked now was quite shocking but he had thought she wouldn't let it affect her too much, considering one of her own brothers was scarred in the face as well.

_But his scar isn't as bad as yours_ , a poisonous voice hissed in the back of his mind.

"Well, I'll see you on Monday then I suppose," Ron said lightly and clapped his shoulder, glaring warningly at the few people who were gaping at Harry when they passed them on their way to the elevator.

"Say hello to Hermione from me," Harry smiled faintly as the elevator descended, the woman's voice announcing the name of each department coolly.

The elevator was in a state of constant flurry as people stepped on and off each time the contraption halted at a department. Ron and Harry ended up pressed into the furthest left corner and the dark haired wizard did his best to ignore the whispers and the stares once the others realised who was in the elevator with them. Some were more subtle about it than others, but in a small confined space like this it was difficult to not pick up the whispers and horrified looks.

Ron moved around until he came to stand on Harry's left, conveniently blocking the stares. "The wall decoration was digging into my shoulder," he explained and shrugged, humming underneath his breath.

Harry eyed him sceptically, but didn't reply; too relieved that he didn't have to feel the heavy stares anymore. Him being hidden behind Ron's slightly larger frame had as extra benefit that the whispering stopped as well now that they couldn't stare at him any longer.

"I'd say tell Malfoy that I said hello too, but." Ron shrugged and grimaced as they both reached out to take a pinch of Floo powder.

Green eyes rolled but he nodded. "See you on Monday."

The last thing he saw before green flames whisked him away – and which he probably wasn't supposed to notice – was the quick flash of worry crossing his friend's face.

* * *

The house was silent when the Floo spat him out, him barely avoiding meeting the floor with his face. He would never get the hang of Flooing.

He loosened his robes and threw them on the coat hanger standing a few feet next to the fireplace. Their house wasn't as grand as Malfoy Manor, but it was big enough to have a small foyer. They could have used the hearth in the living room to Floo, but Draco had been quite peculiar about getting soot on the carpeted floor and so they only used the foyer to Floo in and out.

His breathing and his footsteps were the only sounds penetrating the silence in the house as he made his way to the kitchen. The solitude, the quietness, the feeling of being closed off from the outside world – it made the tension in his body loosen up and he relaxed slightly; the knowledge that he wouldn't have to deal with pitying eyes, disgusted glares and horrified whispers as long as he remained in the house setting him at ease.

It would be so easy to shut himself in in the house. If he stayed within these four walls, these wards, he wouldn't have to deal with the gossip, the staring, the looks on the people's face when they saw how fucked up his face had become. He could shut himself off from all that, wouldn't have to hear the cruel whispers anymore, wouldn't have to see people doing their best to get out of his way as if his scars were contagious. He would be at ease – as much at ease as he could be looking like this. Maybe it would even become easier to ignore how he looked like if he wasn't confronted with it constantly through the reactions of other people.

It would be so easy. The longing to do just that, to remove himself from society, to never have to deal with the awful reactions, it had all been there from the moment he had been discharged from the hospital and had been allowed to go home again.

But he didn't want to give up. He wasn't a quitter; he had always been a fighter. He didn't want to give his attacker the satisfaction of not living his life anymore. Voldemort had tried, but he hadn't succeeded and Harry would be damned if he let some crazy wizard get the best of him.

It was just _so difficult_.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember why he was getting up in the morning; why it would be worth it to keep living his life. When he looked in the mirror and was confronted by the scarred mess, it took a lot of him to keep going, to force himself to go to work each day, brave the reactions of other people, grit his teeth and remind himself that he was still _alive_.

Just … Sometimes it didn't seem worth it. When his unblemished eyes stared back at him from the mangled mess that was his face now, when the scars on his left cheek itched fiercely but he couldn't scratch it without hellish pain blooming up, when the chasm between him and Draco grew with each day that passed with Harry flinching back from the other man's touch.

It felt like he was treading water, scarcely able to keep his head above water; not making any progress at all.

The silence helped a bit. When it was just him alone, it was easier to pretend that nothing had happened, that he was fine. It was why he tried to return home sooner than he usually did. For just a few hours he could pretend that he was _normal_.

In the kitchen he filled a glass with pumpkin juice and with the glass in his hand, he walked upstairs, two floors up, where his study was located. It was a small room; the desk and a bookcase took up the majority of the space, even though the light coloured walls gave off the impression that it was large. The window looked out on a large field with tall grass; large puddles of rain water reflecting the weak sunlight. There were already dark clouds gathering above; it wouldn't be long anymore before it would start raining again.

With a sigh Harry approached his desk, placing his glass next to a pile of blank parchment. Condensation was already forming a circle on the wood when the dark haired man sank down in his chair, staring blankly at the thick tome waiting in front of him.

' _The Art of Illusion'_ greeted him mockingly and he clenched his jaw; his magic buzzing right underneath his skin in reaction to his agitation. He had been trying to search for spells that could help him fix his face. There was no spell to cure him – Healer Calling had warned him about that, but it had still felt like he had been punched repeatedly in the stomach when he had to concede that the Healer had been right. There was no cure for him; his scars were permanent and there was no spell, no charm, no potion that could help him remove them.

He hadn't wanted to give up, though. If he couldn't cure himself, then the next best thing was concealing the scars.

However, so far none of the books he had consulted had brought up any useful information. Oh, there had been some useful spells which he had immediately tried out, but none of them _worked_. The spells seemed to glide off him like water, not even covering him for just a few minutes.

He thought it had been him screwing up the spells. Maybe he had somehow mispronounced them; maybe he hadn't used the correct wand movements. In a fit of pure desperation he had gone to Hermione, asking her to perform the spells on him. Surely if anyone could cast a spell correctly, it was his best friend.

She had done so, a tad reluctant, warning him that the potion had been designed to create permanent injury and therefore the spells might not work. She had cast spell after spell, repeating them twice, thrice, but it hadn't mattered.

The spells had refused to work and Hermione had to give up before either of them became too frustrated.

She didn't know Harry hadn't given up on finding the right spell. She hadn't wanted him to keep searching, hadn't wanted him to become disappointed time and time again and he knew he should stop his search. If Hermione hadn't found a cure – and he knew she had consulted book after book, the bags underneath her eyes stark evidence of her relentless quest – then there wasn't one. If a cure existed, she would have discovered it; she had always found an answer to any question they had been face with after all.

So if Hermione hadn't had any luck, there was no way Harry would stumble upon the cure. He just couldn't let it go. If he stopped searching, if he stopped browsing through thick, old, dusty tomes, squinting and getting headaches from the spidery, often illegible handwriting, it would mean that he had given up, given in.

He needed this search to remain sane, to not give in to the despair, the hollowness that was threatening to overwhelm him, drown him, whenever he caught sight of his face.

He needed to make himself believe that everything would be right eventually. That the scars would disappear, that he and Draco would make it through this okay. That he …

He started when footsteps echoed on the staircase and he hastily closed the book, dropping it into the second drawer before whirling around and snatching a book about Dark water creatures out of his bookcase. He flipped it open on a random page just in time as Draco knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" Harry called out, his eyes fixated on the page but not actually reading what was written down.

The door opened with an almost inaudible 'creak', revealing Draco still dressed in black robes. There was a yellow greenish smudge near his hip and Harry briefly amused himself with the mental image of the usually impeccable dressed blond cursing and glaring at his cauldron when the potion reacted volatile.

"You're home early," Draco remarked, hovering in the doorway. His eyes were a mixture of surprise and weariness when Harry chanced a look up.

Harry shrugged and bit on his lower lip before he answered, "I was done with my reports and Ron wanted to go home early for a date with Hermione."

Draco grimaced but didn't make a disparaging comment about Ron, which was progress – and a bit unsettling as well, because the other wizard never let a chance pass to announce what exactly he thought of Ron. It was the main reason why Harry still couldn't meet up with both his friends and Draco at the same time; the blond's snarky mouth still had some progress to work through.

"Everything all right?" Harry questioned uneasily and his stomach churned when he noticed the distance Draco kept between them. Usually by now, Draco would have crossed the room to attempt to kiss Harry, but he just kept standing there, studying Harry with a queer look.

Was this the moment that …

"Yes, everything's fine." Draco's next exhale came out as a gust of wind and his eyes darkened. "Are they making any progress with the attacker?" he asked stiffly; his back ramrod straight as his fingers were hooked like claws around the doorframe.

Harry shook his head, rubbing a hand over his left wrist. "No, they're still looking for him," he murmured and tried to ignore the flash of panic that rose up at the thought of his unknown attacker who was still somewhere out there. "They told me yesterday that they had some leads, but …"

Harry hadn't been able to give a decent description, the attack too sudden for him to have registered his attacker's face and Seamus hadn't been able to remove the hood, so his description had been rather useless as well. It was like finding a needle in a haystack and privately Harry wondered whether they would ever find his attacker. Unless someone started blabbing, it didn't seem likely. Harry's list of enemies was also too long for his colleagues to actually narrow down some suspects. Literally anyone could have been it.

"Fuck," Draco growled and he glared out of the window, straight over Harry's head. There was a brief pause before Draco shook his head and inhaled deeply. A smile, brittle in nature, played across his lips as he said, "Harry, mother sent me a letter."

Harry blinked, thrown off guard by the sudden shift in topic. "Oh? What for?" His mouth felt inexplicably dry as his mind raced, trying to come up with a reason why Narcissa would have sent a letter.

He had seen her only two times since the day of the attack and as always he still couldn't figure out what she really was thinking about him. She had approved of him as her son's romantic partner, but that had been before the attack. What did she think of him now, now that he looked like this? Did she still think he was worthy of her son or was she wondering why Draco stayed with him?

Not that he could really blame her if she did. He was asking himself the same question.

"The Greengrass family is organising a ball tonight," Draco spoke slowly and dread was like a leaden ball in his stomach when Harry realised where this conversation was going. "It's a gathering of all the old Pureblood families and the Malfoys were invited. She asked us to join them there."

'Asked' was not the right way to describe how Narcissa had formulated her request. Harry hadn't known her personally for that long yet, but by now he knew her well enough to know that she didn't _ask_ , she _demanded._ If you thought she gave you a choice, you were in for a nasty surprise.

"Draco, I'm not really feeling up to - "

"It's been a while since we last went to a gathering," Draco interrupted him and his eyes were intense, piercing like a hawk, when they looked at Harry. "According to mother, they will discuss organising a charity event to collect money for a new orphanage. I know you dislike Pureblood politics, but this is for a good cause."

Harry attempted a weak smile, but he felt like he could throw up any second now. "You've always been better at this politics stuff; you don't need me to be there to - "

"But I do need you," Draco said sharply and the look in his eyes was so wild it made Harry shut up immediately. "I need you to be there with me, okay? I want you with me like before. It's – not the same without you. Besides, we need to shut Blaise up. He seems to be under the impression that he defeated me with finding the best, suitable partner and you know how impossible he becomes when he thinks like that," Draco smirked, clearly attempting to create a lighter atmosphere.

Before Harry could stop himself, he blurted out, "But he's right. Look at me! No matter who he comes with, they're bound to be bet- " He swallowed the rest of his sentence when Draco suddenly stormed over, a look of pure anger plastered on his face as he loomed over the younger man, leaning his hands on either side of Harry on the desk so that he could bend closer, bringing his face close to his.

"He's not! He isn't, okay? Because you're still the most beautiful person I know and you'll outshine everyone there at that bloody gathering! I don't know what I have to do or say to make you believe me!"

Silence rang heavily in the room, only broken by the harsh panting of Draco as he struggled to calm down; his body so tense it hurt to look at it. Eyes treacherously pricking with hot tears Harry looked away, no longer able to look Draco right in the eye; his hands clenched around the arms of his chair.

He desperately wanted to believe Draco, trust the blond when he told him he still found him as desirable and beautiful as before, but he just couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to believe him.

Because it would hurt that much more when the moment came that Draco realised he could do better. A lot better.

Harry flinched when a hand cupped his right cheek carefully and there was a pause, a moment where Harry's skin prickled and he was waiting for Draco to pull his hand away, to back off, return to the status quo they had kept up for weeks now, but the moment passed and Draco cradled his cheek firmer and gently coaxed him to look up, straight into too soft grey.

"We're going to get through this," Draco said quietly, but determined. "I'm not going to let this tear us apart, Harry. I won't allow it."

Harry kept quiet, the lump in his throat too big to even attempt opening his mouth.

"Will you please join me at the gathering?"

Draco regarded him with patient eyes, but there was also a hint of desperation lurking into those grey depths; Harry realised with a start that this revolved around more than simply a chance to make Blaise shut up. This was a way for Draco to make the first step, to get their lives back on track; to get some normalcy back into their lives.

There was a bridge between them, Draco standing on the other side and one misstep could be fatal, Harry knew.

He closed his eyes in resignation, swallowed down the big lump and nodded. "Yeah, okay."

He would do this. He would join Draco at the gathering, would endure the looks he would no doubt receive when people saw his face in real life – there was after all a difference between seeing the picture and actually seeing it with your own eyes.

It wasn't okay, not really, but there was a tremor going through Draco's hand, his impeccable mask wavering and Harry would do anything to get rid of that look of pure desperation in Draco's eyes.

Draco nodded, his eyes suspiciously damp, before he suddenly pressed his face against Harry's shoulder; his breath washing over Harry's neck as Harry slowly brought his arms around him, feeling their bodies touch for the first time in what felt like forever.

They remained in that position for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: This chapter was quite difficult to write - I have a feeling that every chapter of this fic will give some difficulties. I hope I didn't screw it up too badly, though *winces*
> 
> Please leave a review behind with your thoughts; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> I see you all in the next chapter! I wish you all a Happy New Year and I hope to have you all back in my future chapters/stories!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Somewhat later than I had intended to, but I still had to finish this chapter today *grimaces* This one gave me a bit more trouble than the previous one, but I guess that's going to be a regular occurence with this fic. Either way, apologies for the slight delay and I apologise in advance if the chapter isn't as good as you expected it to be *winces*
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments; I really appreciate them!
> 
> Warnings: angst; bigotry (I think that's the best label)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_Part 3_

The manor of the Greengrass family was in Cirencester, built nearby a large park. Complicated wards made sure that no Muggle could stumble upon their property; as soon as one of them came too close, the wards would activate, making them think that they had something urgent to do somewhere else.

The pathway to the front doors was illuminated by dozens of floating candles which cast a soft orange glow, guiding the visitors to the manor. A house elf stood by the doors, bowing and opening the large, gleaming white doors for every wizard and witch who had been invited to the gathering.

The end of February saw snow exchanged for rain and people hurried over the path, keeping themselves dry underneath their heavy robes and large hoods covering their faces and hair.

Harry and Draco had Apparated to the gates when the rain had lessened somewhat; the steady stream weakening down to a drizzle.

Harry raised his head, careful to hide his face in his hood, and watched how his breath left him in small, white clouds. There were two 'POP's behind him and a couple hurried past him, the woman muttering darkly about the rain ruining her hair.

"Ready?" Draco questioned softly; his hand gripping Harry's left one tightly, acting like some kind of anchor.

_No, I'm not._

But they were here now, dressed in their finest robes, and Harry had no desire to either disappoint Draco or Narcissa. He could do this. It would only be for a couple of hours. If he could endure the looks he received in the Ministry, he could deal with the people at this gathering.

 _After all, they're much too polite to be obvious about it_ , he thought snidely. He detested the way Purebloods hid themselves behind a mask, how they pretended to be friendly and polite to one's face, but spewed gossip once backs were turned. He had never been comfortable around people acting like that.

Now however he found himself hoping they would act that way tonight, if only to not have to look at faces full of horror or disgust once they noticed his face.

Just one night of reprieve, would that be asking too much?

"Let's go," Harry murmured with a sigh.

The gates swung open soundlessly when they approached them and the wards tingled across Harry's skin when they passed through them; the magic testing him carefully.

"Welcome to Moonshine Manor," the house elf said, voice a bit squeaky, and bowed; the doors opening with a snap of his long, thin fingers.

A large hallway with an auburn coloured carpet and at least three large chandeliers covered with real diamonds greeted them when they entered the manor. A large, broad, marble staircase was right across from them and Harry could spot two busts of men – most likely Greengrass ancestors – on the landing, gazing over the hallway with stern gazes.

Every three feet there was a large vase filled with blue lisianthus' on the left side of the hallway and on the right side the vases were filled with deep red roses. There were only two doors visible: one was on the left side of the staircase, an unassuming dull brown one, and the other one was on Harry's right side. This door was open, warm golden light spilling out, and people were entering that room, their robes swishing across their ankles.

Harry wasn't aware of how frozen he had been standing there until his vision was filled with bright, concerned grey eyes and he blinked rapidly, shaking his head.

"What?"

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere," Draco told him solemnly and Harry smiled weakly, flexing the fingers of his right hand.

"I know. Let's – let's just go in, okay?" He took a deep breath, trying to steel himself for the looks he would most likely attract as soon as he lowered his hood.

"It'll be okay," Draco murmured, slipping him an encouraging smile.

Harry wanted to appreciate the reassurance, but he felt too jittery now and his answering smile came out more like a pained grimace.

Nevertheless he followed the blond, reminding himself that he had faced worse situations.

* * *

As soon as they entered the large ballroom – it was larger than the Great Hall of Hogwarts – Narcissa swooped down on them with a smile. She was wearing midnight blue robes, which glistened faintly in the light whenever she turned, and the colour brought out her ice blue eyes nicely. Her long, blonde hair was done up in an intricate bun; two curled locks framed her face. Her slim neck was adorned with a silver necklace and the pendant with a piece of sapphire glittered when she turned her attention to Harry and appraised him thoughtfully.

"You're going to lower the hood, Harry?" she asked mildly, not unkindly. Behind her Lucius appeared; his cool, grey eyes sliding over Harry's form before they landed on his son and he inclined his head.

He had been on house arrest for three years for his involvement in the war; half a year ago his sentence had ended and he had been given his wand back. There was still an Auror assigned to his case, checking up on him every so often, but for the most part he was a free man.

"Father," Draco greeted the older man with a faint smile.

"Piece of advice," Lucius said casually, casting a sharp glance at someone near the buffet table. "Laurens Silverwood is on a warpath, so it'd do you well to stay clear from him."

Harry had no clue who Laurens Silverwood was, but judging by Draco's grimace it wasn't someone they were fond of. Then again, he supposed there were very few people the Malfoy family was fond of.

"Thanks for the warning," Draco muttered and rolled his shoulders.

"Harry? The hood," Narcissa repeated patiently, but her eyes were slightly narrowed.

Harry checked a sigh and raised his hands reluctantly. He grasped the edges of the hood and lowered it slowly until finally his face was completely uncovered. A house elf popped up next to him and held out his thin arms and Harry pursed his lips before unclasping his robe and handing it over to the small creature.

Another house elf had taken over Draco's robe and a cool hand found Harry's again, entwining their fingers gently.

"Let's go; I've spotted Blaise near the table with the salads," Draco remarked and tugged at Harry's hand.

"Your father and I have business with Harling," Narcissa said and nodded at Harry, not focusing in particular on his face, but not avoiding it either. "I hope you'll enjoy this gathering, Harry."

Lucius didn't say anything, save for a raised eyebrow, but Harry preferred it that way. He and the older wizard would never see eye to eye; civilised interaction was the most anyone could expect of them.

Harry smiled at Narcissa – ignoring how it pulled at the scars of his left cheek – and nodded at Lucius before he let himself be dragged to Zabini, who was sipping from a glass with a rose liquid and staring contemplatively at the various salads as if he was trying to decide which one would taste the best.

"Draco, I was wondering whether you would show up today," Zabini said in lieu of a greeting and looked up. His dark eyes glided over Harry and he inclined his head. "Potter. I see Draco managed to convince you finally to be at a gathering again. Can't really blame you for staying away, considering how boring these functions are." He cast a look of distaste at the room.

"Then why bother coming?" Draco questioned, accepting two glasses of a house elf. They were filled with a golden coloured liquid and had bubbles at the surface and it smelt like peaches when the blond handed one over to Harry.

"Because according to mother I should socialise more with the elite and unfortunately she has an impressive arsenal of spells," Zabini answered dryly. "I'd be an idiot to go against her."

"Isn't she dating someone at the Ministry now?" Harry asked, furrowing his eyebrows. He thought he had seen Mrs. Zabini – or was it Ms. Zabini? He still hadn't managed to figure that one out – once or twice in the Atrium, but he had never paid much attention to her. There had been no need to ever interact with her; as far as he knew she had never been involved in any illicit affairs – or if she had, the Ministry had never managed to find proof.

"Yes, a bloke who works in the Department of International Magical Co-operation," Zabini snorted and shook his head derisively. "Looks like he can barely hold his own against a fifth year in Hufflepuff, but he comes from a family with money, so I'm guessing my mother isn't interested in his magical power."

"Talking about interest, I don't see that amazing girl you were blabbering about last week," Draco remarked with a smirk.

"That's because she bailed on me," Zabini replied dryly. "Apparently free booze and food weren't enough of an incentive to tolerate my mother."

Smugness lit up grey eyes. "Really now? Well, guess this means that I still have - "

"Can I please have your attention?"

All three men turned around; on the left of the doors there was a small stage placed and a solemn woman, whose dark hair was streaked with silver, stood right in the middle of the stage, gazing patiently at the people. Seemingly out of nowhere chairs appeared in front of the stage, neatly arranged in rows of twelve by eight, but Harry suspected the house elves had a hand in making the seating appear.

Once the woman was certain she had everyone's attention, she smiled faintly and beckoned them closer. "Please take a seat, ladies and gentlemen."

"At least I'll be comfortable if I fall asleep due to boredom," Zabini muttered and after snatching a glass of one of the plates a house elf was offering to him, he wandered over to the chairs; his face the perfect picture of boredom.

Grey eyes caught green ones. "Where do you want to sit?"

"Somewhere in the back," Harry replied decisively, scanning the wizards and witches who were mingling around the chairs, trying to decide which spot would be the most perfect one.

Draco raised an eyebrow, torn between looking amused and disapprovingly, but he followed Harry to the chairs and didn't protest when the dark haired wizard chose a seat in the third to last row.

Some people who passed him visibly started when they noticed who was sitting at the end of the row but the piercing look of the woman on the stage made them hurry to their seats. Idly Harry wondered whether she had been related to Snape.

"Welcome everyone," the woman said calmly once everyone had sat down and they had stopped talking. Now there were only the sounds of rustling cloth and the occasional cough disturbing the silence. "My name is Helena Bonfield and I'm here to talk about the fund raising for a new orphanage in Stroud. As you all know the war left a lot of children parentless. The orphanages are at full capacity at this moment, but there are still children out there who don't have any family left and are left to fend for themselves. It is for them that I stand here before you now. They are in need of shelter, of a new home, a new family, and I ask you to give them that."

* * *

At first Harry was interested in her speech. He knew a lot of families had suffered; right after the war had ended he had received thousands of letters from people who had lost loved ones and who had needed someone to talk to, to get help from. Most of the letter writers had been genuine in their grief, had just wanted help and Harry had directed them to the Healers who were specialised in helping people with their grief. Then there had been people who had just demanded money from him, insisting that as a hero of the war he had to donate money to help them.

Those letters Harry hadn't given a second glance. He had no trouble donating money to help people; he did have problems with people flat out _demanding_ money from him, like he was obligated to give them it, like the loss of their family member could be dealt with if they had money.

Amongst the cries for help and the demands for money, there had been charities asking him whether he was willing to donate some money. The rude ones he had thrown out, but he had sat together with Hermione to figure out which charities were in need of his support the most. Hermione had been more than willing to help him weed through the requests and in the end he had ended up donating money to a couple of orphanages and a project that would help people cope with the trauma of the war.

Given his donations in the past, he was interested in Bonfield's campaign; children in need would remain a sensitive issue for him, especially orphans as he had grown up as one, but as Bonfield continued droning on and on about her own achievements in helping victims of the war, it became clear that Bonfield was more interested in receiving recognition for herself than in actually securing donations for the orphanage.

 _This_ was exactly why he disliked Pureblood functions. The majority of them liked to put up a nice front, but ultimately it came down to the fact that they liked talking about their success more than they wanted to actually help people.

When he looked around he saw a lot of people listening attentively to Bonfield – or at least pretending like they were paying attention to her – but there were also a couple who were whispering to each other, barely looking at Bonfield and some were even wandering back to the buffet table. Bonfield didn't seem to notice or she was deliberately ignoring them.

"I'm going outside for a bit," Harry whispered, feeling a bit on edge for some reason. Maybe it was the monotonous voice of Bonfield or the sensation of being looked at, even though he couldn't spot anyone looking his way.

Merlin, if he didn't watch out, he'd become as paranoid as Moody.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Draco murmured; one of his hands landed on Harry's knee, squeezing it.

"No, I'll be back in a bit. Just need to get some fresh air," he smiled and rose up, barely even casting a look back to see whether anyone was taking notice of his departure. He did catch Narcissa's eyes and she raised an eyebrow, cocking her head faintly, but she didn't attempt to stop him and soon he was out of the ballroom and he felt like he could finally _breathe_.

 _Stop being so ridiculous_ , he scolded himself and he went back out of the front doors; not feeling up to roaming around the manor in an attempt to find a door leading to the backyard.

Cool night air swept over him when he set foot outside and he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with the fresh, cold air. The doors fell shut behind him soundlessly and he looked up dubiously at the sky.

He hadn't thought of getting his robe, but it didn't appear as if it was going to rain any time soon, the sky a clear dark blue with just a few white clouds scattered around, and he decided that a Warm Up Charm would be good enough.

As soon as the charm was wrapped around him, surrounding him with a pleasant warmth, he started walking, going right where the path curved around the building. The light coming through the large windows of the manor on his left was enough to make the path visible and prevented him from stumbling on the gravel. There was nothing but a hedge of thick trees on his right, shielding the manor of whatever laid on the other side of that natural wall. The path led to the large backyard which stretched out further than the naked eye could see in the darkness.

There was no light shining through the windows on this side of the building, but several balls of magical, white light – resembling the nightlamps Harry and Andromeda had cast for Teddy when he had still been a toddler and afraid of the dark – floated in several places spread out through the backyard, illuminating rose bushes, a white path and the occasional statue.

A large square fountain was built around thirty-two yards behind the manor; a golden mermaid was holding a narrow jug in her hands out of which water flowed, creating a high arch in the air before it landed in the fountain itself. Some sort of hedge was planted in front of the fountain, surrounding it, bar the entrance left behind in the hedge that led to the fountain.

A bench was placed in front of the hedge, facing the manor, and he found himself meandering over to it; his footsteps silent on the tiled path. He sank down on it, noting absentmindedly that the Greengrass' had had the forethought to cast a Cushion Charm on it, and exhaled slowly, watching how his breath left him in white puffs.

Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted, followed by a dog barking briefly. There was the rustling of the leaves in the trees and he felt himself relax; hands burrowed in the pockets of his trousers.

He supposed the gathering wasn't going too badly. Sure, it was the same pompous Pureblood bullshit disguised as a plea to help the less fortunate – and he would have Hermione check whether there had been a request handed in to build a new orphanage in Stroud, surely she would know – but there had been a minimum of staring and nobody had approached him to have an awkward conversation.

He had to count that as a win.

Maybe Draco had a point. Maybe it was time to get out more, go to gatherings like this, even if they didn't interest him, but because he had been doing that _before_ the attack. Life went on and it was probably time he got back some control after having had it snatched away from him so brutally, leaving him reeling.

If Death hadn't managed to defeat him, why should he let this anonymous attacker get the best of him? Why would he give in? That wasn't him, that had never been him.

Maybe he could …

Footsteps behind him put him on alert and he found himself gripping his wand tightly until he recognised one of the voices drifting over. Judging by the footsteps, there were two other people in the backyard aside from him: Astoria Greengrass, the youngest daughter, and presumably her friend, but Harry didn't recognise the other woman's voice.

He hadn't had any real interaction with Astoria so far; he had seen her at some of the gatherings Draco had dragged him to, but she had never made an attempt to talk to him and he didn't see a reason to start interacting with her when he hadn't even known her in Hogwarts. He only knew she was a few years younger than him and according to Parkinson, there had been talks about her marrying Draco before Draco had come out and revealed he was together with Harry.

Whether or not Astoria had been bothered by that, Parkinson hadn't been able to tell him.

He thought the two women would walk past him, their high heels audibly approaching the hedge, but the footsteps stopped somewhere behind him and he guessed there was a bench on the other side of this natural wall.

"It's not like you can do much about it, though," the unknown woman said sympathetically.

Harry grimaced and decided it was better if he went back inside; he wasn't about to eavesdrop on a private conversation. Tucking his wand back into his pocket, he stood up and froze when Astoria's reply reached him.

"But I don't understand Draco at all!" Astoria snapped agitatedly. "What is he thinking?"

Unwillingly Harry remained in one spot, barely daring to breathe as he directed his attention to the conversation going on just behind the hedge.

"Maybe it's pity?" Astoria's friend suggested idly and robes rustled. "I mean it wouldn't look good if he left him now, would it? The press would have a field day with it and the Malfoys are still in a precarious position."

"As if Draco would ever do something out of pity," Astoria sneered. "No, I just don't get him. I mean, yes, it made sense to break off the negotiations about our marriage when he and Potter got together, but at least back then Potter was still _good looking_. Even I have to admit he had a certain appeal. But now? How can Draco even stand to look at Potter, let alone touch him? Is it because of Potter's money? The Greengrass' have money. Because of his reputation?" she snorted. "My family at least knows how to handle our reputation. Potter's fame? What good is that going to do him when nobody can even look at Potter anymore now he looks like _that_?"

"Well, they haven't been seen at any gatherings until tonight, so I'm guessing it's not going to so well between them," Astoria's friend replied. "Can't really blame Malfoy for that. The Malfoys have always had a thing for beauty and well, Potter doesn't exactly fit that bill anymore."

"Exactly!" Astoria crowed triumphantly. "I knew you'd understand me, Lisa. It just doesn't make any sense. Why doesn't he start the negotiations again? I wouldn't even care about his interest in men. At least with me, he could show me off without feeling ashamed. He's making a laughingstock out of himself now by staying with that freak. Did you know that other families are starting to wonder whether some of You-Know-Who's followers messed with Draco's mind during the war? They say that's the only explanation why he would stay with Potter when he looks like that."

"I don't know, Torie," Lisa sighed. "But a rumour like that isn't good for their reputation. Aren't they trying to get back up the ladder now that Lucius Malfoy has finished his sentence?"

"Yeah, And Potter is singlehandedly ruining their attempt," Astoria sneered.

"Well, Draco was one of the smartest in his year. I'm sure he'll come to his senses soon," Lisa reassured her friend. Her voice took on a mischievous tone when she continued, "Until he does, what do you say we get out of here and have some fun at the Midnight Flower Club?"

"Sounds like a great plan," Astoria laughed. "Let's sneak out the back. I don't want to hear my parents nagging."

They giggled and quickly walked away; their footsteps fading out as the distance between the women and Harry increased more and more.

There was a distant 'POP', signifying they had Apparated away, and then it was completely silent once more.

Harry remained standing there for a long time; long enough for the Warm Up Charm to fade away, leaving him to the mercy of the cold wind which stung his face.

Surrounded by the gorgeous flowers that bloomed at night and statues of which the beauty was captured for eternity and would never be marred.

_Unlike him._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: I hope this one isn't as bad as I fear it is *grimaces* Your comments really mean a lot to me, guys, because admittedly I'm a bit insecure when it comes to this story. 
> 
> Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> See you all in the next chapter!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


	4. Part 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: And here I am with the fourth chapter. Here it's mainly the second half that I'm a bit concerned about, so I hope it isn't as bad as I fear.
> 
> Thanks for the comments and the kudos! I really appreciate them!
> 
> Warnings: Angst (although I guess that's a given by now); slight sort of fluff - well, fluff compared to the overall angst
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_Part 4_

There was a letter waiting for him when they entered the kitchen.

"Isn't that Aunt Andromeda's owl?" Draco questioned casually, unclasping his robe. His hair was slightly damp from the rain that had started falling down again when they left the Greengrass' manor.

"It is," Harry muttered and relieved the owl from its burden, curiosity as to why the older witch would contact him now briefly burning brighter than the cold feeling that had taken up residence in him since he had overheard Astoria.

The owl ruffled his feathers, clicked his beak and flew over to the perch Harry and Draco kept for visiting owls, where he started selecting owl treats out of the small bowl. Clearly he had been told to wait for an answer.

Draco cocked his head slightly, threw an indiscernible look at the letter and murmured, "I'm going to take a shower. I'll be back soon."

Harry nodded and listened to the occasional creak of the stairs as Draco ascended them and the door of the bathroom opening and closing. Silence returned and the dark haired man took a deep breath, steadying himself against the kitchen counter. After a short bout of hesitation, he removed his robe, hung it over one of the kitchen chairs and opened the letter. It wasn't as if he could ignore the letter – not unless he wanted a personal visit from Andromeda.

_Dear Harry_

_I hope you're doing well. I've heard that you returned to work a couple of weeks ago; which is good. You've never been one to let things get you down._

_My apologies, but I'm not going to beat around the bush. I've hold it off for as long as I could, but he inherited his stubbornness from his mother. Teddy has been asking after you – several times already. He still doesn't comprehend why he couldn't visit you in the hospital and your continued absence hasn't made it easier for him._

_Teddy misses you. There are only so many excuses I can give to him before it is no longer enough. He has heard that you're back to work and has been asking when you have the time to visit him._

_I think I know why you have put off visiting him and frankly, my dear, you're being ridiculous. He loves you; he is not going to care how you look like now._ I _don't care how you look like; you're still Harry._

_You can't avoid him forever; that isn't fair to him nor to you. Don't let your attacker win._

_I've instructed Helena to await your reply – which I hope will contain a date when you're ready to see your godson again._

_I hope to see you soon._

_Love,_

_Andromeda_

The letter was placed on the counter and Harry rubbed his hands over his eyes, grimacing when his left palm slipped over the jagged edges of his scar.

_Fuck._

He should have expected this; he really should have. It had been nearly two months since he last saw his godson; before the attack he hadn't seen the six year old since the New Year's party at the Weasleys' home, because he had been too wrapped up in a case. And after the attack …

He was ashamed to admit it, but he hadn't wanted Teddy to see him like this: scarred and ugly. It felt … wrong to have the boy see him like this. He was afraid of what Teddy would think about him now. If he saw him like this, damaged, scarred for life, turned into a _freak_ , how would he react? Horrified, repulsed, disgusted? Would he scream or back away in fear?

He wouldn't be able to handle his godson's reaction. He knew Teddy idolised him; his adoration plain on his face whenever he looked at the older man.

He couldn't bear to see that look of adoration turn into one of fear or disgust.

However, at the same time, he knew he couldn't keep avoiding his godson. Well, he supposed he could if he really wanted to lose his family. He swallowed and stopped rubbing over his eyes, staring at the tiled floor with unseeing eyes.

He really wanted to see his godson again, but would he be able to cope with whatever reaction Teddy would give him? It had already stung when children he didn't know gaped at him or cried out of fear when they saw him; how much worse would it feel if the boy who was like a son to him reacted like all those other children?

If he hadn't overheard Astoria gossiping about Draco with her friend – would he still be this reluctant to show his face to Teddy? He didn't delude himself into thinking that all his issues would have disappeared if he hadn't overheard that particular conversation, but …

He wanted to move forward and visiting Teddy would be the first step. It would get him back on the path to leading his life as he had been leading it before the attack. It might even be enough of a push to try breaching the gap between him and Draco, go back to how they used to be before all this shit had gone down.

_But it's never going to be the same as before_ , a voice hissed in the back of his mind and he clenched his jaw. _Even if you won't longer flinch and can touch him again – you're still going to be as broken as now. You won't ever be_ fixed. _Draco is still patient now, is still trying, but how long before he gives up? Before he realises that you're_ ruined _?_

"Damn it!" he hissed and whirled around, slamming his hands on the counter. The stinging pain shooting through his arms from the contact with the unforgiving stone was nothing but a vague blip on his radar as helpless rage and the sensation of feeling lost warred with each other; his stomach cramping fiercely.

Was this how his life was going to be the entire time? Constantly doubting whether Draco still wanted him, whether he was still good enough, whether or not he was fucking up Draco's life? He knew the Malfoys had been trying to rise up the social ladder again, but was his appearance really going to keep them from shooting up in society? Were people really wondering whether Draco was touched in the head simply because he hadn't dumped Harry as soon as he saw how he looked like now?

Would it even be worth it to stay …

He let out a sigh and pressed the palms of his hands against his closed eyes for a few seconds; multi coloured spots dancing in the darkness of his eyelids. Not casting another glance at the letter – he couldn't deal with that, not now – and ignoring the scolding hoot of Andromeda's owl, he walked out of the kitchen, up the staircase, and into the bathroom, which was now empty. The mirror was still a tad fogged up, proving that Draco had only recently left the room. He was probably changing into pyjamas now.

Having taken a shower this morning, Harry decided to just say fuck it to taking one now and instead reached out to grab the toothpaste and his toothbrush. Mechanically he filled his cup with water, squeezed some toothpaste on the brush and started brushing his teeth; the heavy mint taste coating his mouth barely registering as his eyes remained fixed on the drain in the sink.

When he was done brushing his teeth, he spat it out in the sink and gurgled some water of his cup before he got rid of that as well. He snatched the towel on his left and dapped his mouth dry before throwing it back on the rack. He went to turn around and leave the bathroom, but his eyes caught the mirror and he froze, staring back at his scarred face.

Since nearly destroying every mirror in the house, he had tried his best to avoid looking in the only remaining mirror. He had never been particularly vain and hadn't spent any significant time in front of a mirror before his attack, but now it physically made him _ill_ to see the ruined mess that was supposed to be his face staring back at him from the reflecting surface.

Now that his eyes were caught by his reflection, he found he couldn't look away even though nausea was starting to creep up and he flinched.

As he studied his face he wondered silently what was exactly keeping Draco with him. How could Draco stand to look at him without feeling disgust? Harry could barely look at himself!

Was it pity like Astoria's friend had said? Was Draco pitying him because he had essentially become a social pariah with the way he looked now? Or did he fear it would reflect badly on him if he broke up with Harry now? Was he afraid he would lose the reputation he had built up so far if word got out that he had dumped Harry for no longer fitting the image of beauty? But if this had to do with his reputation, wasn't staying with Harry doing more harm?

The dark haired wizard knew all too well that appearance was everything in the higher circles. He had mostly survived the Pureblood gatherings because of his fame and as Parkinson had teasingly pointed out once, "Because you're easy on the eyes, Potter. Now shut up, drink some of this champagne and dance with me!"

He had no grace to speak of – something which he was sure made Narcissa despair quietly – and as he hadn't grown up in that world, he didn't know how to act, how to talk, who to talk to, who to avoid … The gatherings had been mostly him staying near Draco and being dragged into boring conversations while trying not to mess up too much.

So really, he didn't have much to offer Draco. Especially if his scars were reflecting badly on the blond wizard. He knew how hard Draco was trying to better his reputation, to show how much he had changed since the war. Harry didn't want his efforts to be in vain simply because other people wouldn't be able to look past his scars. It wouldn't be fair to Draco to be judged for something that only really affected Harry.

Arms slipped around his waist and he barely kept himself from flinching at the touch. Draco placed his chin on Harry's shoulder, his chest radiating heat against the younger man's back, and grey eyes locked onto his in the mirror.

"What are you thinking about?" Draco asked; fingers idly caressing back and forth over Harry's hipbones.

Harry shook his head. "Nothing in particular," he muttered, unwilling to divulge what he really had been contemplating. That would most likely end in an argument and he didn't have the energy for that now. Although there was a part of him that wanted to …

"I saw the letter," Draco mentioned casually and his fingers paused. A calculating look crossed his face. "What answer are you going to give her?"

Harry's hands clenched around the edge of the sink as his stomach rolled in response to the question. "I don't know," he admitted begrudgingly. "I haven't decided yet."

Draco looked visibly taken aback. "Why wouldn't you go? He's your godson."

"I know that!" Harry snapped and pulled himself free from Draco's grasp, taking a few steps sideways so that he ended up next to the shower. "I know that, okay! I just don't want him to -" He cut himself off and wrapped his arms protectively around himself as shame flared up once more.

"He's not going to care, Harry," Draco said quietly. He looked quite pale in his dark blue pyjamas.

"You don't know that," Harry replied miserably and the lump in his throat made it come out choked, which was something he could do without right now. He wasn't going to break down, he wasn't, damn it!

"I know him," Draco retorted calmly. "I've seen the way he looks up to you. He adores you, Harry, there is no way he's going to care about the scars. You two love each other. Don't let – don't let him take Teddy away from you."

_Don't let your attacker win._

Those were the unspoken words grey eyes were screaming at him.

Harry looked away, fidgeting with a button on his shirt. "I'll think about it," he acquiesced, knowing that he couldn't keep ignoring his godson.

"Good," Draco said resolutely and the corners of his mouth curled up in a gentle smile.

Having Draco's gaze trained at him, without once flinching or looking away, caused the questions he had been torturing himself with for weeks to well up once more and he swallowed; stomach filled with violently fluttering butterflies.

"Draco? Are you …" he trailed off; his hands suddenly feeling clammy.

Draco cocked his head and asked lightly, "What?"

The words were on the tip of his tongue, burning to be let out, but after a few seconds of wavering, he lost his courage and he shook his head with a wan smile. "No, nothing. Let's go sleep; I'm knackered."

Something that looked like disappointment flashed across Draco's face before his expression smoothed out and he inclined his head. "Okay."

When they slipped into the bed – large enough to hold three to four people, because Draco hadn't wanted to get a smaller one and had been stubborn about it – and Harry felt arms slipping around his waist, pulling him closer until his back was pressed against Draco's chest, it was easy to imagine that nothing had changed.

He desperately wanted answers to his questions, but he was too scared to actually ask them, fearing what the answer would be. Ignorance was bliss, as they said.

* * *

"You ready?" Draco looked at him expectantly and visibly shivered when cold wind howled around them.

He and Harry were standing in the small front yard of Andromeda's house, waiting for the dark haired man to gather this courage. Harry had sent his reply a week ago, after a day of dawdling and doubting and knowing he would keep kicking himself if he didn't go see his godson. They had agreed to meet at Andromeda's place on Sunday afternoon and apprehension and fear had followed him throughout the entire week.

He wasn't ready. Not at all. But if he wasn't ready now, when would he ever be ready? If he didn't go through with this now, he would just keep putting it off, keep finding excuses to avoid his family and he couldn't do that. He wouldn't allow himself to do that. He loved Teddy like his own son and he couldn't let the attack take him away too. Besides if he couldn't even visit his own godson, how would he ever manage to go on with his life? This would be the first step to getting his life back to normal.

Still, dread filled his stomach like lead and his legs had the consistency of rubber as he stared apprehensively at the modest house in front of him. The urge to turn around and leave was growing with each second that passed and he scowled, angry at himself. When had he turned into such a coward?

"Not really, but let's go," he muttered, rolling his shoulders in a useless attempt to get rid of the tension there.

"It'll be okay," Draco reassured him and entwined their hands before they made their way to the door.

Taking a deep breath, Harry pressed on the doorbell, hearing the sound ringing loud and clear through the wooden door.

Andromeda might have been waiting right next to the door because it only took three seconds before the door opened, revealing the older witch dressed in a soft purple dress with her black grey hair done up in a simple bun. Dark eyes stared at him solemnly, studying him intently, before her eyes softened and she reached out with her arms, drawing him into a hug.

"You look good, Harry," she said softly and squeezed his shoulders reassuringly when she pulled back.

He shifted uncomfortably and mustered up a weak smile. "Thanks; you look great."

She narrowed her eyes a bit before she nodded and stepped aside to greet Draco, who was lingering behind Harry on the porch.

"It's good to see you again, Aunt Andromeda," Draco greeted her with a genuine smile and she returned it with a warm smile of her own.

"Yes, it is." She waved the blond inside and closed the door behind him. "How has my sister been?"

Draco chuckled. "She's well. She's attending gatherings mostly, trying to estimate where we stand now."

"That's my little sister," Andromeda said fondly and shook her head. She looked at Harry with an amused glint in her eyes. "Narcissa was always at her best when she could work her magic at social gatherings."

Harry tried to summon some amusement, but now that he was actually inside the house, nerves were running rampant through his body and he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to avoid seeing them tremble. "Where – where is he?"

Andromeda immediately sobered up. "He's in the living room," she answered; her dress rustling gently around her legs as she turned around and nodded at the closed door leading to the aforementioned room. "I told him to wait there and you'd meet him there."

"How much does he – you know." Harry waved half-heartedly at his face and he felt rather than saw Draco taking a step closer to him.

"I told him you had been attacked and you have some scars that can't disappear with the help of magic," she answered calmly. "He said it doesn't matter, because you're still his godfather." She looked pointedly at him.

Harry couldn't hold back a bitter snort. "We'll see," he mumbled, grimacing. He wanted to have more faith in his godson, but he also could recall all too vividly how other children had reacted to seeing his face.

She gave him a disapproving look, clearly scolding him for his lacklustre response, but he ignored her and made his way to the living room, Draco following closely behind him like a shadow; like he wanted to reassure the dark haired man he would be at his side the entire time.

Or he wanted to keep Harry from changing his mind and leaving the house. Either one was possible.

Hand resting on the doorknob, he took a deep breath to steady himself, but it didn't do much. If anything the nerves seemed to become worse and he was honestly starting to worry that he would throw up with how queasy he felt now.

"It'll be fine," Draco murmured and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

Biting his lower lip hard, using the sharp pain to distract himself, he pushed down the doorknob and pressed it backwards, opening the door slowly. It swung open soundlessly and after another moment of hesitation, he stepped inside, feeling like his heart was about to beat straight through his chest.

He knew he shouldn't be this nervous, because this was his godson, the boy he had raised from the start, but …

"Uncle Harry?" The high, innocent voice came from his right and he steeled himself before slowly and with a lot of trepidation turning around, barely aware of Draco and Andromeda slipping in behind him.

Teddy, who would turn seven years old in just a couple of weeks – _Merlin, time went by_ _fast_ –, was sitting on the cream coloured couch, swinging his legs back and forth. As Harry watched on, Teddy changed his neatly combed, caramel brown hair to a messy black and his blue eyes coloured a mixture of grey and green – a colour combination he usually took on when he visited both Harry and Draco.

Those grey green eyes were studying his face intently, swivelling from his left to his right cheek, to his forehead, his nose, his eyes, before doing it all over again. Harry could do nothing but stand still in front of the small boy, wondering what he was thinking about. Tonks might not have wanted anything to do with the Blacks, but Teddy was getting remarkably good at smoothing out his expression. Only the blatant curiosity and something else Harry couldn't identify immediately in his eyes betrayed the fact that he wasn't unaffected by seeing Harry's scarred face.

"Do they hurt?" Teddy inquired after a long moment of utter silence had passed.

"Sometimes," Harry admitted quietly and sighed, sinking down on the coffee table in front of Teddy, pathetically relieved that the boy hadn't started screaming or running away yet. "I'm sorry I didn't see you for a long time, Teddy. I – "

Teddy shook his head. "It's okay," he told his godfather solemnly. "Grandmother says you needed time to get better. But the scars aren't going away? Magic can't make them disappear?"

The dark haired man swallowed. "No, the scars aren't going away. Magic – magic isn't capable of making these ones disappear."

Teddy nodded thoughtfully before his face cleared up and he looked at Harry with a bright grin plastered on his face. "But you're okay now, right?"

"Ah, eh, yeah," Harry replied, honestly bewildered at seeing that grin directed at him.

He had expected Teddy to blanch in fear or disgust, try to avoid looking at his face once he saw the extent of the damage. Maybe even run away.

Never, not even at his most optimistic – and these last few months had sucked out a lot of his optimism – had he dared to image that Teddy would be comfortable looking at him, seemingly not bothered by the fact that his godfather's face was now heavily scarred.

"Then it's okay," Teddy said confidently and jumped off the couch, flying into Harry and nearly knocking him over as he hastily wrapped his arms around his godfather's waist as much as he could. "I'm happy you're here, uncle. I missed you."

Harry froze, not entirely sure he could believe his ears. "Aren't you – don't the scars bother you?" he asked hesitatingly and cringed at how pathetic he sounded.

Teddy pulled back a little so he could look at him confused. "Why? They're just scars, just like the one on your forehead and the one on your arm, right? It's bad that you got hurt, but I'm happy you feel better now." A small hand reached up and gently touched Harry's left cheek. "I'm a big boy, Uncle Harry! I'm not scared of scars!" He looked insulted that Harry would ever even consider that thought.

Something in Harry cracked and he took a shuddering breath, pulling Teddy in a close hug as he hid his face in messy soft hair, tears threatening to spill over.

Teddy burrowed his face in Harry's shoulder. "I love you, Prongslet."

Harry's breath hitched and this time tears dripped down his cheeks, splashing apart in Teddy's hair. "I love you too, Moonlet."

For the first time since he had been attacked, Harry felt that his life was finally taking a turn for the right, there surrounded by his family.

* * *

When he and Draco arrived home a couple of hours later, there was a message from Kingsley waiting for him on the kitchen table.

' _We got him.'_

Harry froze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: I figured it was time I brought some old nicknames back. So yes, what do you think of it? Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; I really appreciate reading your reviews about this story! Should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> See you all in the next chapter!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


	5. Part 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: First of all, my apologies for the delay. I had wanted to post this sooner, but I only just finished it now *winces* This chapter was equally as hard to write as the previous ones.
> 
> Second of all, thanks for the kudos and the comments! I really appreciate hearing your thoughts!
> 
> Warnings: angst; foul language; reference to torture; slight panic attack in the beginning
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_Part 5_

"I'm going with you," Draco announced and his jaw was clenched as he glared at the short message.

Harry for his part remained frozen in front of the table, like he had been hit with the Body Bind Curse. Kingsley hadn't specified about whom he was talking about, but he could only mean one person when he had sent this particular message.

_His attacker._

After nearly two months of no news they had managed to catch him. Had the man spontaneously surrendered or had they found a clue which led to the man in question? When Harry had left the office last Friday, he hadn't been informed about any progress in the case. Then again, it wasn't like many Aurors deigned to speak to him anymore.

He should be happy now. Or no, maybe not really happy, but at the very least relieved. Instead terror, unlike anything he had ever felt before, swept over him, taking residence inside him and he was only vaguely aware of how fast his breathing had become, how it was becoming harder to breathe, feeling like he would never get enough air and that only made the terror stronger; his vision narrowing as black spots started to dance in front of him.

"…ry. …rry. …arry! HARRY!"

Two strong hands were wrapped firmly around his biceps, squeezing him slightly, and he lurched forwards, gasping for air as if he had just been drowning.

"I've got you, you're okay, you're safe," Draco muttered; the tight grip around Harry's arms leaving him before arms cradled him closer and hands started rubbing his back soothingly. Blond hair and pale, smooth skin obscured his vision when Draco urged his face into the older man's neck. "Nothing's going to happen, I'm here. You're okay; everything is all right. You're safe."

Over and over Draco kept muttering words of reassurance in Harry's ear; strong hands never faltering in their journey over Harry's back. The low timbre of Draco's voice made him sink into a daze, his thoughts quietening for once, and his breathing slowed down, synching up with that of the blond man as his own fingers clutched into Draco's shirt, bunching up the cloth.

Eventually Draco's voice trailed off, leaving them in silence with only the ticking of the kitchen clock disturbing the peace.

With a start Harry realised this was the first time since the attack that they were touching each other so intimately again. He tensed at the knowledge that Draco could definitely feel his scars now and he made a move to remove himself out of Draco's arms.

"Don't." Draco's voice was quiet but firm and Harry stilled, keeping his face averted as he held his breath. Draco's sigh made his hair ruffle and arms tightened around him, one hand resting on the swell of his arse and the other on his lower back; heavy like a brand. "Just … don't. This is okay."

Harry remained silent, not sure whether he could trust his voice to work.

The hand on his lower back disappeared only to find purchase in his neck where a thumb started rubbing over his pulse. "Are you feeling up to going to the Ministry?" Draco inquired softly. "If you don't want to, you don't have to go. Everyone would understand."

Harry knew Kingsley wouldn't mind if he refused to go to the Ministry now. The interrogation would proceed without and later on his superior would brief him about it. All it would take would be Harry sending back a reply that he wasn't coming. And Merlin, he didn't want to go. He didn't want to be confronted by his attacker, didn't want to hear the reason why he had decided to throw that potion over his face. He had encouraged victims in his cases to confront their attacker, so that they could close off that painful part in their life, but he himself recoiled from the thought of coming face to face with his attacker.

He was afraid of what he would hear, of what he would see if he finally laid eyes upon his mysterious assailant. He wanted nothing to do with the bastard who had ruined his life.

Yet, he realised that if he wanted to have a chance at gaining some normalcy back he needed to be there during the interrogation. If he didn't go now, a part of him would always wonder why exactly he had been targeted and it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

If he didn't attend the interrogation would that make him a coward or a hypocrite? How could he tell victims that they needed to face their assaulter for their own good if he couldn't bring himself to do it?

"Harry?"

Draco's voice dragged him out the maelstrom that were his thoughts now and he started, becoming aware of the stinging pain in his hands. When he glanced down, he saw that his fingernails were pressing into the palms of his hands, leaving crescent moon shaped indents behind when he unfurled his fingers.

Grey eyes regarded him intently when he chanced a look. "You okay?"

A sigh left the dark haired man and when he took a step back this time Draco let him go. "Not really," Harry admitted with a grimace; his stomach cramping severely when his eyes landed on the message. "But – let's go."

"You're sure you want to go?" Draco furrowed his eyebrows, clearly not convinced. "You can still - "

"No, I – I need to do this." Harry licked his lips and ran a hand through his hair; agitation warring with fear. "I – let's just get this over with, okay?"

"Okay," Draco said soothingly and his hand enveloped Harry's; their fingers entwining. "I'll be with you the entire time, all right?"

Harry's nod was rather jerky and his legs felt like rubber when they made their way to the fireplace. Draco took a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the flames, which flared up wildly and turned a poisonous green. Somehow they managed to step into the hearth at the same time and Draco called out firmly, "Phoenix Office!"

Green filled Harry's vision, various rooms spinning past, but he only focused on the hand around his own, which currently felt like the only thing keeping him grounded. Draco's hand was also the one thing keeping him upright when he stumbled out of the fireplace, stubbing his toe against the slightly raised stone in front of the hearth. One would think he would remember that particular stone after Flooing into his office many times already; he would never become a pro at Flooing it seemed.

"Harry!" Ron appeared in the doorway, looking both surprised and concerned. He was only wearing an old sweater and trousers, proving that he had only just arrived. "I got Kingsley's message," he continued, casting a quick glance at Draco, who studiously ignored him.

"Did – did they start the interrogation?" Harry questioned, brushing some soot of his trousers in an attempt to keep his one hand busy. Draco refused to let go of him, but for once he didn't mind.

"No, he was waiting for your reply." A frown marred Ron's face. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"No, but I have to," Harry answered honestly and his stomach flipflopped; nerves quickly assaulting him once more. He just hoped he wouldn't start throwing up.

Ron nodded, comprehension flashing across his face before he rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Let's go then. Kingsley is waiting. Anna-Beth and Nicolas are going to interrogate him, but we can listen in the next room."

"I'll be with you the whole time," Draco murmured reassuringly and squeezed Harry's hand softly.

The dark haired man nodded and silently followed Ron out of the office, Draco following closely behind him. It being Sunday, there were only a couple of other Aurors present on the floor and none of them looked up when the three men passed their offices, too wrapped up in their own work. Harry was grateful for that; he wasn't in the mood to fend off any questions.

There were three interrogation rooms on this floor and five others below it, but Ron didn't open the door to go downstairs, so they had kept his attacker on the same floor as their offices.

Ron halted before the last interrogation room which had two doors: one leading to the actual room where they questioned suspects and witnesses and the second one opening to a small room adjacent to the first one. This small room was meant for listening in on the conversations going on in the interrogation room. People in the first room couldn't look into the small room, but the people in the latter one could watch the proceedings in the first one through a one way glass. Sometimes the small room was also used for victims to point out their attacker if the Aurors had to round up some potential suspects. The one way glass offered a form of protection for the victim, ensuring that their attacker couldn't reach them because they didn't know their victim was in the other room.

Ron opened the door of the small room and gestured that Harry had to go inside first. Draco slipped in behind him and Ron entered the room as last, closing the door behind him.

Kingsley was already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Harry," he greeted and spared a small smile. "I'm glad you came."

Harry exhaled slowly and forced himself to approach the glass. "Did they start already?" When he looked through the glass, however, he saw nothing but an empty room; a table and three chairs the only things filling the space.

"No, I told them to start at five thirty to give you some time to get here," Kingsley replied and nodded to Draco and Ron. "Good evening."

"Is it okay if Draco stays here?" Harry inquired and unwillingly he squeezed Draco's hand tighter; trepidation filling him. Ron wouldn't be a problem, considering Kingsley had messaged him as well, but he probably hadn't expected Draco to join them.

"That's not a problem," Kingsley answered calmly.

"Not like I would have left you even if it had been a problem," Draco muttered underneath his breath. Only the close proximity between the two of them had allowed Harry to hear that remark and he shot the blond a weak smile.

Ron suddenly straightened and came to linger in front of the glass next to Draco. "They're bringing him in," he announced abruptly and Harry's heart skipped a beat.

His heartbeat loud in his ears, Harry stared through the glass and watched how the door of the interrogation room swung open, revealing Nicolas entering first. His ash-blond hair glinted in the light and a frown marred his forehead when he turned around and impatiently beckoned the next person inside; his wand clearly visible and trained on the other one. The next person to enter the room was –

_His attacker._

White noise filled his ears as he stared at the man who had ruined his face for the rest of his life. The man wasn't anything remarkable; he had short, dark brown hair parted in the middle and light brown eyes which were slightly narrowed at Nicolas. He was wearing a simple white shirt and black trousers and his hands were bound together with magic supressing handcuffs. He shuffled to the table and sank down on the chair, scowling at the floor.

He looked so _normal_. Someone you could pass by on the street and never look twice at him; someone who could be that neighbour you exchange greetings with but aren't close to. There wasn't anything remarkable or special about him.

Harry didn't know what he had expected to see. He had never spent much time trying to imagine how his attacker looked like. During the attack he hadn't seen his face and afterwards he had tried to avoid remembering that evening.

Yet, he hadn't expected the other wizard to appear so normal and that normalcy threw him off guard, struck him in a way he hadn't anticipated. Had he expected his attacker to look more like some of the Death Eaters he had rounded up, like Fenrir? People who instantly gave off the vibe that they couldn't be trusted, that they were supporters of the dark side? Perhaps. Having his attacker look so normal, like any other person walking on the streets …

It unsettled him deeply.

When he forced himself to focus back on the scene unfolding in the other room, he noticed that Anna-Beth had joined the two men in the room; her dark blonde hair tied together in a high ponytail swinging back and forth when she sat down next to Nicolas.

"You have two options," Nicolas started flatly. "Either you cooperate and answer our questions truthfully or we will give you Veritaserum. Do you understand?"

The man nodded surly.

"Good. Is your name Francis Greenling?" Anna-Beth inquired politely.

"Yes," the man, Francis, replied shortly.

"Are you the one who attacked Auror Harry Potter with the Acidus Perpetuus potion on Friday evening the twentieth of January?" she questioned, her light blue eyes regarding Francis sharply.

Francis didn't answer and instead looked away.

"Answer the question!" Nicolas barked and his wand sparked green.

Eyeing the wand warily, Francis answered with a sneer, "Why ask me when you're already sure I did it?"

Anna-Beth leant forwards; her eyes narrowing dangerously. "We can do it the easy or the hard way, Francis, it's your choice. Are you going to answer the question or not?"

"Yes, I did it, okay?!" Francis snapped and an ugly flush spread out over his cheeks and nose.

"Care to explain why you did it?" Nicolas questioned coolly; his wand idly tapping against the edge of the table.

Francis clenched his jaw and the glare he threw the two Aurors could have set the table on fire.

Nicolas let out a soft sigh, leaning back in his chair. "You know, it's not like we really need your confession," he started conversationally. "We have three witnesses willing to testify that they saw you buy the ingredients and another witness stating that they heard you ranting about Harry Potter, proclaiming you wanted to take revenge. We also found the flask you poured the potion in and it contained enough residue for our Potion Masters to declare which potion was in it. Your alibi of that time also doesn't match the one your wife gave us. All in all, we have enough evidence to bring you before the judge."

"Judges tend to be more favourably inclined towards people who confess willingly, though," Anna-Beth took over; her smile as sharp as that of a shark. "So really you would be mostly helping yourself out if you confess everything now."

"As if the judge will let me off easily," Francis sneered. "Everyone is fucking biased when it comes to Potter!"

"That's your opinion." Nicolas shrugged. "We figured you wanted your story out in the open. Here's your chance. Aren't you dying to tell us how you managed to attack Auror Potter?"

"I guess not, Nicolas," Anna-Beth snorted, idly twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. "I mean, wanting to take revenge on Potter isn't that special, you know? Not even original, considering Potter deals with - "

"He fucking deserved it!" Francis shouted and slammed his hands down on the table.

Anna-Beth and Nicolas quietened, eyeing the heavily breathing man warily.

"And why did he deserve it?" Nicolas asked softly, leaning forwards. "Hm? What did he do to you that he deserved to be attacked with that potion?"

Francis laughed harshly. "It wasn't about what he did to me! I did it for my sister!"

"Your sister?" Anna-Beth raised an eyebrow.

"My sister was only eighteen years old when Death Eaters came to her house," Francis hissed and his eyes were ablaze with old pain and fury. "They knew she specialised in developing spells and they wanted to use her to create new curses for the war. My sister refused of course and fought with them. But she was alone and they were with five." He made a choking sound and tears started brimming in his eyes. "They – they tortured her. F-for hours. They left her there _to die_. My mum was the one who found her! If she – if she had been even a minute later, my little sister would have been dead!"

"I'm sorry for what your sister has been through," Anna-Beth said softly and there was a hint of sympathy in her voice. "Nobody deserves to go through that. But I can't comprehend what all this has to do with Auror Potter. He wasn't the one who tortured your sister. In face it's thanks to him that - "

"My sister relives that fucking day over and over again!" Francis snarled and his eyes were nearly bugging out; his entire face a deep red. "She doesn't dare to go outside anymore; she hasn't left her house since she came back from the hospital. She barely sleeps anymore, barely eats! She isn't the sister anymore that I grew up with! She's just a fucking shell. If Potter had been faster, if he had ended the war sooner than he did, my sister would have been fine! It's all thanks to that son of a bitch that my sister doesn't even want to be around us anymore! It's all his fucking fault! And while my sister is stuck in her house, he gets to prance around in public, acting like nothing happened?! Why does he get to be happy when my sister won't ever feel like that again? So yeah, I made that potion and threw it on him! I wanted to make him suffer, make him pay! I fucking hope he's miserable for the rest of his fucking life!"

Harry didn't hear what was said after that. Maybe Nicolas was asking more questions; maybe Anna-Beth was. It didn't matter. He knew who his attacker was now and he knew the reason why he had done it.

He felt _empty_.

It always came back to that goddamn war. He should have been quicker, should have been smarter, should have figured out a way to stop Voldemort sooner …

They were all quick to judge him, to tell him he should have been faster, should have been stronger, but were they the ones who had fought in the war? Were they the ones who had sacrificed their lives just so the rest of the world could live in peace? Were they the ones who had had to face death, who had to walk up to Voldemort with the knowledge that they were going to die?

He had been merely seventeen, still a teenager, and yet he had been expected to save the entire world. Everyone had looked to him to stop the war and yet they hadn't stopped to think what it would do to him to have to live with the knowledge that every day he didn't stop Voldemort was a day more where lives could be lost.

He wished he had been able to stop the war sooner. If he had, maybe then Remus would still be alive. If he had been faster, Teddy wouldn't have to grow up without his parents. If he had been quicker, people wouldn't have had to mourn their loved ones.

But he hadn't been. He had tried the best he could, but it would never be enough for some people.

There would always be ones who thought he could have been quicker, who were sure he could have done something to end the war sooner. There would always be people who blamed him for things he had no control over.

Now he was blamed for something Death Eaters had done. He would have to live the rest of his life with a disfigured face, just because one man had thought it was his fault that Death Eaters had attacked his sister.

He hadn't imprisoned anyone of this man's family; hadn't injured or killed anyone he loved during the battle. His only mistake had been to not have killed Voldemort sooner, to not have been some kind of superhero who could have ended the war with one snap of his fingers.

His only mistake was being human.

* * *

He couldn't remember leaving the room and going back to his office to Floo home. He must have done so, though, because when he became aware of his surroundings again he was standing in the living room of the house he shared with Draco, staring out of the window.

He released a broken chuckle.

"Harry?" Draco spoke softly, somewhere behind him.

"I figured it had to be someone who carried a personal grudge against me, you know?" Harry began, voice muffled as he pressed a hand against his mouth. Tears were stinging behind his eyes, but he was refusing to let them fall. "Maybe someone I had arrested before or someone whose family I had put in Azkaban or maybe even killed. But no. It's simply someone who blames me because his sister was attacked by Death Eaters." His voice gained a hysterical edge near the end of his sentence. "My face is fucked up because someone was mad I couldn't stop the war sooner!"

"Your face isn't fucked up, Harry," Draco refuted strongly and he strode towards the dark haired man, appearing in his line of sight. "They are scars; your face is not fucked up."

Harry stared at him in disbelief, lowering his hand. "Draco, my entire face is messed up! Look at me! There's nothing left of m- "

"I'm looking at you," Draco interrupted him and his voice was soft but steadfast and Harry shut up. "And you know what I see? I see someone who managed to live through a horrible attack. Someone who despite what life throws at him keeps going, keeps fighting and refuses to give up. I see a stubborn, beautiful man who I lost my heart to years ago. Someone who gave me a second chance despite the shit I put him through."

He stepped closer until there was only a few inches left between them and framed Harry's cheeks lovingly, carefully. His thumbs caressed Harry's cheekbones as he lowered his face until Harry could do nothing but look straight into loving, soft grey eyes. "I look at you and I see the man I love," Draco murmured and then for the first time in nearly two months, their lips found each other again, pressing softly against each other.

A kiss full of tenderness, full of love and longing.

Green eyes closed and despite the hint of salt as tears wettened his cheeks, Harry didn't think he had ever tasted a kiss this sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: I'll be honest, guys: I don't feel very confident about the last scene. My main concern is that I went too fast, which I hope I didn't, but well, I guess I'll let you be the judge of that *winces*
> 
> That being said, this last scene doesn't mean that everything is perfect now. I guess you could say this is sort of a reprieve before it becomes difficult again. But once more: this story will have a happy ending. We just have to go through the dark parts to reach it.
> 
> Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> I see you all in the next chapter!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


	6. Part 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: Here's the sixth chapter; Harry is slowly making progress. Can I say you overwhelmed me with your thoughtful reviews, guys? Seriously, I really appreciate them!
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the comments!
> 
> Warnings: slight fluff; drama; cliffhanger (I suppose)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_Part 6_

"And do you experience any discomfort?" Calling inquired, jotting something down in Harry's file.

The dark haired man shrugged. "Not really. I mean, smiling too much still hurts a bit and my left cheek aches a bit at times, especially when it's quite cold, but that's it."

"Hm." Calling let out a soft sigh and lowered his quill, studying Harry gravely. "Well, I'm afraid those are things you'll have to get used to. I can recommend you a potion to put on your scars for the winter, though. It should help relieve the symptoms caused by the cold weather."

"Sounds great," Harry smiled weakly; disappointment colouring his voice slightly. He knew he shouldn't have got his hopes up, but a small part in him had hoped that Calling would have found some kind of cure by now. Or at least something to diminish the scars somewhat.

It had been a little more than two months since the attack and Calling had sent him a letter, requesting to see him for a check-up. In rare cases the scars worsened and the Healer had wanted to make certain that wouldn't happen with Harry's scars. They hadn't worsened, but they hadn't improved either.

Fingers curled around the arms of the chair.

"Here's the prescription," Calling said and handed over a folded piece of parchment. "You can find it in any Apothecary or you can brew it yourself. The potion isn't complicated to make and the ingredients are fairly inexpensive. Let me know if you experience any changes."

"I will," Harry muttered and after exchanging goodbyes he left Calling's office.

The corridor was alive with witches and wizards awaiting their turn with a particular Healer and Mediwizards and Mediwitches hurried to rooms and other floors, often with a harried look plastered on their faces and clipboards clenched against their chests. Throwing a look at his watch, he noted that it was nearly twelve o'clock. He would eat lunch first before he would go to Diagon Alley and search a gift for his godson. Teddy's birthday was in a week and he couldn't show up emptyhanded.

He stuffed the paper with the prescription in his pocket, intent on placing it away in a drawer at home. Spring had started – even though the rain outside wasn't immediately a sign of beautiful spring weather – and so there was no need for him to use the potion on his scars. At least the weather wasn't that cold anymore.

Some of the people sitting on the small chairs against the wall stared at him when he passed them, whispering to their neighbour, but most of them were too preoccupied with their own problems to give him much attention, for which he was glad.

The lift to take him down to the ground floor of the hospital was located right next to a mini apothecary. Basically it was nothing more than a counter separating the Mediwitch behind it from the patients. The apothecary was quite small and the shelves lined up against the wall behind the Mediwitch were filled with mostly common potions like an Anti-Nausea Draught and salves for light burns. People could buy special made potions here as well if they had an agreement with the hospital, but most people chose to purchase their potions from a regular apothecary.

Currently there was a woman arguing with the Mediwitch; her caramel brown hair resting in a long braid on her back. When Harry neared her, his attention was unwillingly caught by the argument.

"But I can't afford that price!" the woman protested; a hint of desperation fuelling her ire. "I have an agreement that says that I can get the potion for two galleons each month."

"Yes, but one of the ingredients has become more expensive lately and we had to raise the price to five galleons," the Mediwitch explained stiffly. "My hands are tied, Mrs. Dale. Either you pay five galleons or you won't get the potion."

"And I just told you that I can't afford it!" Mrs. Dale retorted agitatedly. "I'm already behind on some of my payments and I still need to pay off my divorce. There's no way I can spend five galleons for that potion each month!"

"Then I can't give it to you," the Mediwitch said unremorsefully and placed some papers beneath the counter.

Having arrived in front of the lift, Harry was close enough to see Mrs. Dale's face and he grimaced in sympathy. Her entire right side was covered with severe burn marks and a long scar ran straight through her right eye; Harry doubted she still had any vision left in that eye.

"But I need that potion," Mrs. Dale pleaded; her fingers clenched around the edge of the counter. A faint sheen of tears made her eyes glimmer. "If I miss one dose, the burns will worsen!"

The Mediwitch sighed heavily and frowned; not even a glimpse of sympathy crossing her face. "Look, there's nothing I can do, Mrs. Dale. I can't give you the potion if you don't give me the money. You want to complain, go to your Healer." With that said, she turned around and went to the back of the room, clearly dismissing the other woman.

"Damn it!" Mrs. Dale cursed and whirled around before coming to an abrupt stop when she realised who was standing in front of the lift. Embarrassment crossed her face and she clasped her robes tighter around her as if she was trying to ward off the cold. "Sorry for that. I didn't mean to make a scene."

"No need for an apology," Harry reassured her and bit his lip, hesitating before he gave in and asked gently, "Are you going to be all right?"

Her breath left her in a gush of air and her shoulders slumped. "I guess. I still have some potion left, but I'll have to see what I'm going to do next month. I need that potion but I can't afford the new price." She let out a self-deprecating chuckle. "As if it isn't enough that my husband left me for another woman, now I can't even afford the draught I need for the burns."

She looked up, one eye a mixture of milky white and blue and the other a clear crystal blue colour, and chuckled embarrassed, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say all that. I'm just having a really bad day."

"Can someone else loan you the money?" he suggested hesitatingly. Money was always a touchy subject and he didn't want to overstep any boundaries.

"Maybe once, but I can't ask my family to keep loaning me the money," Mrs. Dale sighed and tugged at a lock that had escaped from the braid. "It doesn't matter. I'll find a way. It's just … Life seems a lot harder now than I remembered it being before I got hurt."

Her words echoed in Harry's head as she gave him a wave, a weak smile, before turning around and walking away in the opposite direction.

He couldn't help but think she was right.

* * *

"You're home early," Harry remarked surprised when he walked into the living room and saw Draco sitting at the table with a thick book open in front of him. The bag with a Quidditch playset and two books about dragons – wrapped in dark red paper with a silver bow – was placed on the coffee table and Harry removed his robes, leaving him in a worn grey sweater and dark jeans.

"Some idiots were experimenting and their potion exploded," Draco sneered and closed the book, looking up. "We had to clear the building because they feared the fumes were poisonous."

"And were they poisonous?" Harry inquired curiously, trailing closer to the blond when the wizard beckoned him.

"Don't know," Draco snorted and rose up from his chair; his hands came to rest on Harry's hips and he tugged him even closer. "They thought it'd take at least four hours to clear the air and an hour to figure out whether there was any danger. I guess I'll find out tomorrow whether it's safe to go inside again." Not giving Harry any chance to back away, he swiftly bent closer and pressed a kiss on Harry's mouth, not lingering but not rushing either. "How was your check-up?"

After nearly two months of no kissing, the reintroduction of them made Harry's lips tingle every time even if the urge to flinch away was still rather strong. He was trying, though. He longed for everything to return to normal and even if he still wasn't ready to have sex with Draco again, he still wanted the closeness between them and the kisses gave him that.

Draco seemed to understand that; he didn't push Harry for more, but the kisses were frequent and at times it felt like they were teenagers again, hiding in an alcove to snog each other silly.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying.

He felt like one wrong move would have him lose everything, but he tried to push that thought away as much as he could. Greenling had been sentenced to fifteen years in Azkaban for attempted murder last week; he wouldn't be able to come near Harry again and the dark haired wizard was more than ready to take up his life again. He just wished it didn't take him so long.

"It was good," Harry replied and shrugged, glancing at the grandfather clock standing in the corner. Nearly time to prepare dinner. "Nothing changed. He gave me a prescription for the winter, though, to make sure the scars don't ache when it's cold."

Draco hummed and cocked his head when Harry retreated from his embrace and walked back to the coffee table to put the presents on top of the bookcase. The height of the bookcase would make sure that Teddy wouldn't notice the gifts in case he showed up unexpectedly before his birthday. It wouldn't be the first time his godson sneaked out of his grandmother's house because he wanted to visit his godfather.

"I bought a Quidditch play set and two books for Teddy," he commented, levitating the presents on top of the bookcase. "Andromeda told me your mum wants to be at Teddy's birthday party as well. Will she go straight to Andromeda's house or will we pick her up?"

"She'll probably go straight to Aunt Andromeda's house, but I'll ask her tomorrow," Draco answered and his pensive tone made Harry turn around.

"What's wrong?" Harry questioned confused, stuffing his wand back into his pocket.

"That's my line," Draco replied cryptically and leant back against the table with his arms crossed in front of his chest. Blond eyebrows furrowed and grey eyes studied the younger man intently. "Did something happen today?"

"What? Why?"

"You look like something's bothering you," Draco clarified and narrowed his eyes. "So what happened?"

Harry let out a sigh and ran a hand through his hair, tugging at a couple of locks before he dropped his hand back down. "It's nothing. It's stupid really," he said dismissively.

"Let me be the judge of that," the blond retorted dryly and raised an eyebrow.

The green eyed man bit his lip and wavered for a moment before he nodded and gave in. He might as well tell Draco about it; it wasn't like it was really a secret. "After my check-up, there was a woman arguing with the Mediwitch of the apothecary. You know, the one next to the lift?"

Draco nodded and remained silent, gesturing for the other wizard to continue.

"Well, apparently she had an agreement with her Healer about the price of a potion she needs to use for her wounds, but they raised the price because one of the ingredients had become more expensive," Harry continued and frowned. "She can't afford the new price and so she won't be able to buy the potion next month."

He sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, careful not to aggravate the scar on his left cheek. "I know I shouldn't let it bother me," he said begrudgingly, already anticipating the argument his lover would use. "But I just can't help but think that people with permanent scars – people like me – there is no real help for people like us." Agitation flared up and he balled his hands into fists. "People are so used to magic being able to fix things that they don't seem to know how to deal with it when magic _isn't_ able to fix something. But it _happens_. And people seem to want to pretend that everything is fine instead of actually doing something. Magic won't ever be able to fix my face, but at least I can afford the potions that I need. Hell, I could ask you to prepare the potion for me."

He started pacing back and forth; restless energy buzzing right underneath his skin. "But that woman can't afford the new price of her potion. She doesn't have anyone who can prepare it for her. Who knows how many are out there who are in the same situation? How's any of that fair?"

"It isn't. Life's never fair," Draco said calmly and he pursed his lips together. "But it's not like you can do much about it."

"Right," Harry replied slowly, hesitatingly. An idea had been slowly forming in the back of his mind, but he hadn't paid much attention to it yet, figuring it was too ridiculous to even contemplate.

But what if it was something that was actually needed? The scene in the hospital today showed that people were too compliant to bring about any change. What was it that they said? If you wanted something done, you had to do it yourself? Well, Harry wasn't exactly a stranger to doing things on his own. But could he set up something as big as that? A lot would have to be arranged in order for it to work and he had no clue where to start.

"But?" Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're thinking of something, aren't you?"

"Not really. It's – it's probably ridiculous," Harry admitted and flushed with embarrassment.

"Well, I promise not to laugh," Draco said, looking both exasperated and intrigued. Only he could pull off such a mixed expression.

"I started thinking – what if there was some sort of organisation for people with permanent scars and injuries. An organisation where they can go to if they need someone to talk to; one where they can get potions for a decent price without having to bankrupt themselves," Harry explained, starting to get worked up. "Just a place where they can go to for help instead of being pushed aside by the rest of the world."

_A place where they could feel accepted_. He didn't voice that particular thought, but it remained present in the back of his mind. He knew he was lucky; he still had his best friends, he still had the Weasleys, his godson and even his boyfriend to support him even when the rest of the world regarded him like a freak. But there were people out there who weren't so lucky, who didn't have the support he had. Case in point had been Mrs. Dale today whose husband had left her and who had sounded as if she had no real support in her life.

"That actually sounds like a good idea," Draco said thoughtfully and Harry threw him a surprised look. The blond wizard shrugged. "What? It is. You'll have to work out the details better like how you want to set it up and who's going to supply the potions and offer the help, but it's a good idea. I think it would gather a lot of support." He eyed the dark haired man shrewdly and smirked faintly. "Especially if your name is attached to it."

Green eyes rolled but Harry smiled relieved and halted right in front of the couch. "So you don't think it's a stupid idea?" he questioned uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Why would it be stupid?" Draco countered lightly. "You're right that there isn't any organisation meant to help people with permanent injuries or scars. You'd be a pioneer, but I have faith that you can do it. You can even propose it during a gathering – I dare say you'll get some support from the families."

"I'm not sure whether Pureblood families are really interested in an organisation like this one," Harry admitted with a frown and crossed his arms. "I wouldn't do it for the fame or the profit, you know?"

"True," Draco acquiesced but continued dryly, "But you're still Harry Potter and they know better than to shun an idea of yours. If anything they would support you just for the chance of being able to boast that they are helping you."

Harry's frown deepened; he wasn't certain whether he really wanted support from people who would only be in it for the chance to claim that they were helping out the famous Harry Potter. That didn't feel right.

"But the Purebloods' support is just an option," Draco said calmly, apparently having read Harry's concern correctly. "You don't have to propose the idea to them if you don't want to." His face grew solemn as he crossed the short distance between them and slipped his arms around Harry's waist. "It's a good idea, Harry," he said quietly, seriously. "One I think you need, right?"

Harry's cheeks heated up a bit and he nodded, relaxing into Draco's embrace. He was tired of feeling helpless, of feeling powerless. He was done with the pitying stares and the horrified glances. Even if his face would never return to normal, he could help other people in the same situation living an easier life.

"You have my support," Draco murmured into black hair and his fingers danced up and down over Harry's back.

A smile graced Harry's mouth and he pressed his face into Draco's shoulder, slipping his own arms around Draco's waist, linking his hands together on his lower back.

Enjoying the quiet moment between them.

* * *

"My son told me about your idea to help people with permanent scars or injuries."

Harry started and nearly spilt his drink when Narcissa suddenly spoke up behind him and he whirled around, coming face to face with the older woman. There was a glimmer of amusement dancing in the depths of her ice blue eyes when she regarded him calmly. Her light blue dress shimmered faintly in the weak April sunlight.

"No secrets in the family, huh," he retorted lightly and threw a quick look at Draco who was helping Teddy set up his Quidditch playset on the patio.

Grey eyes looked back and the owner of them winked before turning his attention back to the now seven year old fussing around with the mini players.

Knowing his cheeks were slightly red, Harry cleared his throat and shifted his eyes to Narcissa again.

"He thinks it's a great idea," she said and shrugged apologetically. "Draco has always had a difficult time keeping things quiet if he was excited about it."

He sighed and shook his head in amusement. "It's only an idea so far, nothing concrete yet," he admitted and took a sip from his Butterbeer.

He had talked about it with Hermione and his friend had been quite enthusiastic about it, promising to help him out with setting up the entire organisation. Most likely she was already collecting all the information she could get her hands on and would inform him next week what was required to actually start establishing the organisation. Ron had been equally enthusiastic when Harry had proposed the idea and had clapped him on his shoulder, telling him he could count on his help.

"Don't sell yourself short," Narcissa smiled faintly; her fingers resting loosely around her own glass of chilled water. "It's far more than the Wizarding World has so far, so you already made quite some progress already. Everything started as an idea once after all."

He felt himself flush even more and glanced away.

"If you decide to go through with it, you have the full support of the Malfoy family," she continued calmly.

"Even from Lucius?" Harry blurted out before he could think twice about it and his cheeks coloured red.

She inclined her head, seemingly not bothered by the sceptic undertone in his voice. "Even from my husband," she said and a faint hint of amusement lingered in her voice. "He has his faults, but he recognises a good idea when he hears about it."

"Uncle Harry, come play!" Teddy demanded, waving his right hand madly.

"You're being called," Narcissa smiled.

"It appears so," Harry replied dryly and placed his glass on the table. "Guess I'll go do the birthday boy's bidding."

"I look forward to hearing more about your proposal," she told him and disappeared into the house soundlessly where Andromeda was finishing up the birthday cake.

"You okay?" Draco inquired in a low voice, too soft for Teddy to pick up his question.

Harry smiled and in a fit of boldness swiftly leant over to peck Draco's cheek. "Yeah, I am."

Grey eyes lit up and a hand covered his own, entangling their fingers together.

With the weak but warm sun casting its rays on them and surrounded by his lover and family, Harry figured that life was finally taking a turn for the better.

Feeling lighter than he had done in weeks.

* * *

"You're sure you're going to be okay?" Ron asked concerned, wavering in front of the fireplace.

Behind Harry he could already hear some Ministry employees complaining that they were taking too long. He clapped Ron's shoulder and sighed. "Yes, Ron, I'll be fine. It was just a minor cut. It's already healed, see?" He pushed up his sleeve and showed his arm which was once again smooth. He hadn't managed to escape a Cutting Hex entirely during their pursuit of a man who was suspected of breeding illegal magical creatures and a long cut had adorned his arm until he had found the time to heal it with a spell.

If only all wounds were that easy to heal.

"Just worried," Ron huffed, but took a pinch of Floo powder.

"I know and I appreciate it," Harry paused and then continued light-heartedly, "I'll appreciate it even more if I can go home now and get something to eat because I'm starving."

"All right, all right, I'm going," Ron laughed and called out, "Rose Garden!"

The flames turned bright green and whisked him away to the cottage he was sharing with Hermione where she was waiting for him to come home.

Shaking his head fondly, Harry grabbed some Floo powder out of the jar and threw it into the flames as soon as they turned golden red again, calling out his own destination.

As soon as he stumbled out of the hearth, his attention was grabbed by Draco's bag placed next to the couch and he cocked his head, unclasping his Auror robes. Draco was already home? Had there been another incident?

He didn't find the blond in the kitchen and he wasn't in the living room either. Curiosity brimming inside him he made his way upstairs, wondering whether the other wizard was in his own study.

A smile spread across his lips when he saw light dancing underneath the door of Draco's study; the dark wooden door standing slightly ajar. He crossed the landing, his shoes soundless on the carpet, but paused surprised when he heard Zabini's voice drifting out of the room.

"And what does the letter say?"

"Hm?" Draco sounded distracted and there was the sound of papers crinkling.

"The letter of Greengrass," Zabini repeated patiently and Harry froze.

Which Greengrass member was Zabini talking about? Surely it couldn't be –

"They – want to restart the negotiations for a marriage between me and Astoria."

_Of course_.

Because nothing would ever be easy for him, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: Does this count as a cliffhanger? A minor one then. Anyway, please leave your thoughts behind in a review. Harry is slowly making progress now, but I hope it doesn't come across as rushed. I feel like I'm balancing on a cord with this story *sweatdrops*
> 
> I hope to see you all in the next chapter!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


	7. Part 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: This chapter was supposed to have been posted earlier, but I still had to finish it and well, it grew out way longer than I expected O_O So yes, my apologies for the wait!
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments!
> 
> Have I mentioned already how much I appreciate your reviews? They really make me happy!
> 
> Warnings: Angst; lemon; self-esteem issues; insecurity; form of breakdown
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> I hope you'll like it!

_Part 7_

_They want to restart negotiations for a marriage._

Those words kept echoing in his mind and wouldn't leave him alone since he had heard them when he had stumbled upon Draco and Zabini talking about it. It had been three days since then and Draco hadn't once mentioned the letter. For all intents and purposes it was like he had never received the message.

But he had and now Harry couldn't get it out of his head. It refused to leave his mind and haunted him throughout the entire day and even in his dreams.

He wished he had stayed long enough to hear the rest of the conversation, but he had stumbled away to his office where he had hidden himself until Draco had found him two hours later. He berated himself for being so stupid, but truth be told, even if he had remained to eavesdrop on the rest of the conversation, he probably still wouldn't be able to recall anything what was said after those words. It was like his mind had shut down after hearing those words leave Draco's lips and there had been nothing but ringing in his ears and the sound of his harsh breathing.

He could ask Draco. Bring up the fact that he had heard the other man talking about it and ask him what he was planning to do with it. Whether he was going to reject it or … accept it. Normally Harry would have no qualms about confronting Draco about something, but this time he couldn't bring himself to do it, afraid of what he would hear. Afraid of the answer he would receive.

Because let's face it, it was a good proposal. It made sense. The Greengrass' were a prestigious Pureblood family and had managed to climb up high on the social ladder, aligning themselves with influential people. They had a lot of money and one of the most important arguments favouring them: they had the beauty and the grace that Harry was definitely missing.

He had never been particularly graceful – he had already been happy if he didn't make a fool out of himself during a gathering – but before the attack he had had at least the knowledge that he looked rather well. He had never quite believed Draco when he told him he was beautiful, but he hadn't been too shabby looking either.

Now …

He thought he had got better. After the trial he had finally started to gather the pieces that had been his life before the attack. He had become more relaxed around Draco, had cautiously started to believe that Draco wasn't disgusted with him or pitied him and had started enjoying the intimacy between them again.

He had been getting back on track – or so he thought.

Just one simple sentence had been enough to shatter the little self-esteem he had managed to build up these past few weeks and niggling doubt lingered in the back of his mind, offering no escape from it.

He was acting ridiculous he knew. He was being an idiot, but that didn't stop the doubt from taking over, didn't make him stop wondering at night whether Draco would be really happy if he stayed with him.

Made him question whether it wouldn't be better for Draco if he could spend the rest of his life with someone who wasn't damaged, who knew their way around Pureblood society, who wouldn't be a constant embarrassment for him.

"Damn it," Harry cursed, staring blankly at the knife he had been using to chop the carrots. He had arrived home an hour ago; the case of the illegal potion trafficking having been solved in the early afternoon.

He had figured that instead of trying to decide which new case to take on he would go home and look through the information Hermione had gathered so far about a possible organisation. Like always she had been quite thorough and she had assured him she was still looking into things. It made Harry question what on earth could still be there to be looked into, considering the file with information was already rather thick.

It had been a good plan; reading the information would perhaps finally take his mind off the damned letter, but after rereading the same paragraph for the fifth time without the content of it getting absorbed in his brain he had given up on it. He was feeling too restless, too on edge, and staring at the same page without making any progress only agitated him more.

Eventually after staring out of the window for a while he had dragged himself out of his study, downstairs to start preparing dinner. He didn't know exactly when Draco would arrive home, but he figured that making preparations for dinner was a better way to pass the time than staring blankly out of the window.

But even with his attention focused on the task in front of him, thoughts about the letter kept swirling in his mind and he wondered despondently when he had become so pathetic. His insecurities had already been hindering his relationship for a while now – he couldn't keep drowning in them, couldn't let them snatch away one of the few good things left in his life.

However that was all easier said than done.

His inability to overcome his insecurities was aggravating him even more, because he _knew_ he was better than this. He had never let insecurities get the best of him before, so why was it different now? Why couldn't he just get past them? He had been doing so well …

He nearly jumped three feet in the air and almost sliced open his thumb when the door of the kitchen suddenly swung open. Heartbeat quickening, he whirled around, hand already slipping down to grab his wand, before he relaxed and slumped back against the counter with a sigh as he realised who was standing in the doorway, watching him bemused.

"Sorry, you surprised me," Harry smiled wryly, tucking his wand back into his pocket. "I didn't hear you coming home."

"Not really something an Auror should admit, hm?" Draco murmured teasingly and drew closer, dropping his potion stained robes on one of the kitchen chairs.

Then suddenly he was next to Harry and he bent down to kiss his mouth; one hand casually coming to rest on Harry's right hip.

The dark haired man flinched before he could stop himself and he realised the mistake he had made when he felt Draco tense against him before taking a step back with a sigh.

"Harry …"

"Just … It's nothing," Harry fumbled, turning around to face the carrots again so he wouldn't have to look at Draco's disappointed face. Why couldn't he just stop fucking up?

"It's not nothing, Harry," Draco remarked quietly and a heavy silence descended upon the two men.

Biting his lower lip, Harry sought desperately for a way to change the topic, to lighten the oppressing atmosphere in the kitchen. Anything that would distract Draco from the fact that his own lover couldn't even properly kiss him on the mouth without flinching.

_Fuck, he had been doing so well lately …_

"Harry … There is something I need to talk about with you," Draco broke the silence finally, but his words made something heavy drop into Harry's stomach.

Those words usually didn't lead to anything good, right? Or was he just being too pessimistic?

"What do you want to talk about?" Harry asked, praying that his voice wasn't trembling as much as he thought it did. His hand was still gripping the knife, but he hadn't made a move to cut the carrots in a while now. The knife hung uselessly above the cutting board; a half sliced carrot resting underneath the sharp blade.

"Can you turn around?"

Steeling himself – for what he didn't know – Harry dropped the knife on the counter and slowly turned around, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He remained leaning against the counter while Draco was standing next to the kitchen table, one hand resting on the back of a chair.

"What?" he asked apprehensively; his nails digging into his arms.

Draco sighed and the empty look in his grey eyes made Harry feel cold all of a sudden. "I got a letter from the Greengrass' family a few days ago. Asking me whether I would reconsider marrying Astoria," he said, voice flat, devoid of any infliction. His face was a blank mask, leaving Harry to wonder what the other man was really thinking.

Harry's heart clenched and he took a shuddering breath. Despite already knowing about it, he hadn't been prepared to hear those words leave Draco's mouth again. "Wha- what do you think about it?" The words escaped him in a whisper; the lump in his throat preventing him from speaking harder.

"I've been thinking," Draco started uncomfortably and Harry's heartbeat doubled its speed at Draco avoiding his question. "It's been three months since the attack."

Harry remained silent, not knowing what to say.

"And I've supported you from the start. I love you and that hasn't changed."

 _But._ There was a 'but' there, Harry could practically hear it. He was right.

"But no matter what I do, no matter what I say, it's like you don't trust me anymore," Draco continued and he sounded pained; his hands clenching into fists next to his hips.

"Of course I trust you!" Harry protested immediately, balking at the absurd statement. Draco was one of the few people left in his life who he trusted unconditionally.

"No, you don't. At least not like you used to," Draco retorted and he sounded miserable. "It's like there's this wall between us and nothing I do breaches it. You're keeping me at a distance and that honestly hurts, Harry. I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know what I still can do to make you realise that nothing has changed for me."

"I …" Harry closed his mouth, lost as to what he could say.

Did Draco really feel like that? Did he really think Harry didn't trust him anymore? Because that wasn't true; he did trust Draco. He just couldn't trust himself to actually believe what the blond told him. He wanted nothing more than to just go back to how they used to be; back to the time when it was easy to touch and kiss Draco without fearing he would be disgusted by the scars. The time when he just laughed off Draco's insistence on calling the green eyed man beautiful while secretly revelling in the compliment without a dark voice in the back of his mind hissing at him that Draco had to be lying.

Back to the time when it was just _them_.

"Harry …" Draco trailed off, looking incredibly uncomfortable and miserable at the same time and Harry wanted nothing more than to cross the remaining distance between them to embrace the older man, but his legs refused to move. "I think – I think it's best if we take a break."

"A break?" Harry repeated; shock making his body numb. "What do you mean, a break?" His voice caught at the last words and his breath hitched; his eyes pricking traitorously with tears.

"I can't – I'm tired, Harry. I try so hard, but I just can't reach you anymore. I feel like I'm fighting a lost battle and that's not how I want us to be," Draco said softly; the light in his eyes that had always been there when he looked at Harry dimmed. "I don't want to lose you, Harry, but I can't do this any longer. I don't want to be the only one fighting anymore. So maybe we – we should take a break, at least until we figure ourselves out again."

Every cell in his body screamed that he didn't want a break, that he would do his best to become better, if only Draco stayed with him, but what left his mouth was, "Are you – are you going to accept the proposal?"

Draco didn't answer, his face didn't change, but his silence was enough of an answer.

He had lost him. For good this time.

His heart shattered.

* * *

Green eyes shot wide open; his heart thundering madly in his chest and he shot up, covering his face with his trembling hands as he tried to calm down. His breathing was ridiculously loud in the silent room; only the faint buzz of early morning traffic accompanied it.

Toes curling into the mattress he stared with wide eyes at the wardrobe; his fingers tugging at his hair. A violent shiver raked through his body and for one moment he thought he was going to throw up; nausea making his stomach churn.

The moment passed. The nausea abated and he lowered his hands, staring at them blankly as they laid on the crumpled sheets.

Next to him the other man stirred. "Hm, Harry? Something wrong?" His voice was heavy with sleep, cracking in some places and a leg brushed against Harry's thigh as the older man shifted around, coming to lie on his back.

Harry slowly breathed out and turned his head; emerald green catching stone grey, softened with sleep. The nightmare had felt so real that it jarred him to see Draco lying next to him, blond hair mussed, eyes not empty but regarding him with worry.

"Harry?" A hint of concern leaked through Draco's voice and his eyebrows furrowed.

"Nothing." Harry shook his head and smiled faintly, holding out his hand.

Draco grasped it without question, entangling their fingers together, and used it to pull Harry back down on the bed.

"Just a bad dream," Harry sighed and didn't resist when Draco slung his arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Good thing I'm here to chase away the bad dreams, hm?" Draco murmured, voice trailing off as he fell asleep again; nose pressed against Harry's shoulder.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled and remained awake as sleep eluded him, watching how the early May sun slowly fought its way through the curtains and trailed over the ceiling and the walls, spreading its soft morning glow in the room.

It might have been just a bad dream, his subconscious showing him what he was most afraid of, but he had made his resolve.

He was going to do everything he could in order to make sure that that nightmare would never come true.

Perhaps it was time to pay Grimmauld Place Twelve – more specifically its library – a visit.

* * *

Even though he had decided that Sirius' old home would be most likely to contain the books he needed, he hadn't actually held out much hope that he would find what he was searching for. But he had to try.

So on a Saturday afternoon after saying goodbye to Hermione and Ron he left their home and Apparated to Grimmauld Place. Draco had some sort of potions conference going on in Ireland today and wouldn't be back until very late in the evening. He had met up with Ron and Hermione to discuss his plans for the organisation and his idea was finally starting to take real form. He would still need to submit the required documents and find people who were willing to work for the organisation, but he was cautiously optimistic about his chance of succeeding. Narcissa had already informed him he would have the Malfoys' support and with them support of some other Pureblood families.

At least something in his life was going right completely.

Harry hadn't told his friends nor Draco where he was going now. As far as they were concerned, he had gone back home to work in the garden a bit to take advantage of the beautiful, soft weather they had been having lately. He didn't need them questioning him as to why he was going back to Grimmauld Place after not having set foot in it for a couple of years.

The wards were still in place so when Harry arrived in the street he was looking at houses number eleven and thirteen with no sign of the Blacks' ancestral home. Training his gaze on a spot right in the middle of the two houses, he thought, _The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London_.

Grimmauld Place Twelve wiggled itself into place between number eleven and thirteen, greeting him with dark windows. Casting a glance left and right, he hurried across the street and slipped into the house without anyone else being the wiser.

The umbrella stand made of a troll's leg, the one Tonks had constantly stumbled against, still stood by the door with one lonely umbrella in it, long forgotten by its owner. The curtains in front of Mrs. Black's portrait had been spelled shut for eternity by Hermione, who had taken a vicious pleasure in shutting up the old, vile insults spitting woman for good. They had wanted to take down the portrait, but until this day they hadn't managed to figure out a counter spell for the spell that caused the portrait to be stuck to the wall.

Dust coated every surface, but there was no real grime to speak of. From Harry's position he could see a chair thrown over in the kitchen as if someone had shoved it backwards with all their might, causing it to topple over.

"Master is back. What is Master doing here?" A voice croaked; the tone not at all welcoming.

Harry flicked his gaze upwards, to the top of the staircase. "Hello, Kreacher," he greeted the ancient house elf calmly.

After the war was finished, he hadn't known what to do with the house elf Sirius had given to him in his inheritance. He didn't want the elf near him but he also didn't want to risk setting him free, not trusting what the creature would do. He had decided to leave Kreacher in the Blacks' home, figuring the house elf would be happiest here.

"Master is scarred," Kreacher remarked and narrowed his eyes; his long, thin fingers wrapped around the banister of the staircase.

"Yes. I'm here to search some books," Harry told him, keeping a careful eye on the house elf.

Kreacher smirked. "For the scars?" he hissed and his eyes glinted viciously. "Well, if Master wants to look for books, who is Kreacher to stop him?" He bowed; the action mocking instead of a sign of respect.

"Does the Black library have anything that can help me?" Harry asked, pointedly ignoring the satisfaction lingering in Kreacher's eyes.

Immediately Kreacher stiffened, some of his bones cracking with the movement, and he appeared thoroughly offended. "The Black library is one of the best in the world," he hissed displeased. "There is nothing you can't find there."

"Good to know. Then I'll go looking in the library," Harry said flatly and ascended the staircase; his hand lingering on his wand.

"Shall Kreacher prepare some tea?" the house elf asked; big eyes fixated on his master.

"You do that," Harry muttered, thinking it was best if Kreacher was occupied with something.

The house elf bowed once more, his long nose brushing against the ratty carpet, and disappeared with a soft 'POP'.

The library was still like Harry remembered it, filled to the brim with books. Recent ones which had been added by the Order of the Phoenix when they had still been occupying the house. Older ones, thick tomes which looked ready to fall apart at the slightest hint of mistreatment, brought into the library by various members of the Black family.

Needless to say, considering the history of the Blacks, most books had at least some dealings with Black magic. There were books here which no law abiding bookstore would ever think to sell unless they wanted a visit from the Aurors. Old books which couldn't be found even in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts library because of their dark content.

Harry stood still in the middle of the chaotic room, breathing in dust particles and the scent of old books, as he surveyed the towering bookcases and tables which groaned underneath the weight of the piled up books. He should have alerted the Ministry about these books, let them empty the room and take the ones dealing with Dark magic away, but he had never managed to convince himself to actually do it. He knew what Dark magic was capable of, but it had never felt right to let Sirius' old home be invaded by the Ministry. Even though Sirius had hated this place, Harry couldn't bring himself to get rid of the books, consoling himself with the thought that maybe one day he would need one of these books to crack a case.

A flimsy excuse, but he just hadn't wanted to be bothered with the questions that would arise if he told the Ministry about the books. To be honest, he hadn't thought he would ever find himself back in this place.

But now here he was, hoping to finally find the answer that all the other books at home had deprived him from.

He didn't have time to go through each book, so he pulled out his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the only remaining spot on a nearby table that hadn't been taken over by books yet.

"Loco books dealing with healing of scars," he stated clearly, figuring that a spell to find every book revolving around scars and the healing of them would make his search easier.

There were some heavy 'thuds' as if various books were being thrown on the floor, the sound of pages rustling, and then he had to duck in order to avoid being brained by four books flying at him at high speed.

They came to an abrupt halt above the remaining empty space on the table, trembled slight in the air, their covers cracking, before they plopped down, causing dust to fly up and making Harry sneeze.

He rubbed his nose and stared at the small pile surprised. He had expect more books, considering the vast amount available in the library. A snort escaped him when he realised why there were only four available. Healing something wasn't Dark magic, so it made sense that the Black library wouldn't have many books about Light magic.

"Let's hope I have more luck with these ones," he muttered, casting the books a dubious glance. The one on top had a cracked cover and looked ready to fall apart. The three others were in a slightly better state, but there were still tiny cracks in their covers and their pages heavily yellowed, so Harry knew he had to be careful when transporting them to his house.

His visit would be for naught if the books fell apart before he even had the chance to look through them.

* * *

When he returned home twenty minutes later, his bag filled with the heavy books, Andromeda's owl was waiting for him on the kitchen table with a letter.

' _Dear Harry,_

_I know you've been busy with the planning for your organisation, but would it be possible for you to play some Quidditch with Teddy today? He's feeling quite restless due to the upcoming full moon and you've always been good at getting him to calm down._

_Love,_

_Andromeda'_

A smile curled around his lips, a spark of amusement lightning up in him, as he read the letter. The full moon didn't affect Teddy always. There were months when Teddy wouldn't react to it and they would only know the full moon was there if they looked at the night sky. Other months, like this one apparently, Teddy felt incredibly restless, the full moon seemingly hyping him up with a lot of energy. Teddy wasn't a werewolf and didn't transform during the nights of the full moon, but he clearly had inherited some lycanthropy tendencies from his father.

Harry had taken to spending those days with Teddy, coming up with anything that would tire out the boy long enough to sleep peacefully through the night. Quidditch was one of their favourite things to do, because it provided a good outlet for the energy buzzing around in Teddy.

The books could wait a day longer. First he was going to spend some time with his godson.

* * *

Everything went to hell only a few weeks later at the end of May.

After nearly two weeks of searching through the books, reading them in his study whenever he found a moment, he had finally found a ritual that could help him reduce his scars. He had been practically delirious with happiness when he stumbled upon the page and realised that this ritual would help him gain some normalcy back. It would reduce his scars significantly and would finally have him looking normal again. He would still have some scars, but the promise of not having to feel the jagged edges of his scars and the molten mess that was his forehead anymore was already more than he could have dreamt of.

The only problem was that the ritual teetered closely to the Dark side, given some of the ingredients necessary for it – his blood for example and some skin tissue. But if this ritual could give him a normal face again, he would take that risk and balance on the fine line between Light and Dark.

The ritual had given him hope and that was more than he had had in months.

It would take some time to gather all the ingredients and he would have to wait for the right phase of the moon to conduct the ritual, but he was willing to wait a bit longer in exchange for finally looking normal again.

What he hadn't counted on was Draco finding the book.

* * *

"What the hell is this?" Draco snapped, pointing at the _Cicatrices et Curas_ accusingly.

The book was open on the page explaining the ritual with drawings of people with scars accompanying the instructions.

Harry froze in the door opening, his hand resting on the clasp of his robes. He had only just returned home from a case dealing with the theft of rare potions and had gone upstairs to his study when he had caught the sound of footsteps there. He hadn't expected Draco to have found the book – or for him to be so furious. "How did you find it?" Harry stammered, certain he had put the book away before he went to bed last night.

"I was looking for another book when this one fell out of your bookcase," Draco answered impatiently and his eyes were ablaze with anger. "Care to tell me why the fuck you have marked this page?"

Irritation surged up in Harry before he squashed it down, not wanting to get into a screaming match with the blond. "Isn't it obvious? I finally found something that can help me reduce this scars. I thought you would be happy too, because - "

"Happy?!" Draco snarled and Harry paled, the rest of his sentence stuck in his throat as he stared right into glaring eyes. "Why the fuck should I be happy with a ritual that can cause you to end up as a Squib or worse?! Didn't you read all the information?!"

"Of course I did!" Harry snapped back, irritation flaring up again, and he took a step closer, ripping off his robes with an impatient jerk and throwing them on the floor. "But the book clearly states that the chance of something like that happening is small, so I figured I would -"

"You call having sixty-three percent chance at losing all your magic or even your life small?" Draco asked, voice shrill, and he slammed the book shut. "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why the hell would you even think that this ritual would be a good - "

"Because I'm sick and tired of not feeling good enough anymore for you, okay?!" Harry shouted, the words bursting out of him before he could stop them, and Draco stared at him in shock.

"Harry, what …"

"I want to look normal again, all right? I don't want you to wake up one day and be done with me because you're disgusted with how I look," Harry continued, voice thick; tears trickling down his cheeks, leaving a fiery trail behind. "I don't want to be the one who holds you back. I don't want you regretting staying with me. I don't want to take away your chances of climbing up in society because of the way I look. I don't – I don't want to see you choose Greengrass in the end because she looks better than me and knows her way in Pureblood society and is beautiful and doesn't look like a freak. I just – I don't want to lose you."

Tears were freely pouring down his cheeks now, obstructing his sight, and his chest hurt with every intake of breath; his sobs tearing through his throat. Every insecurity, every thought, every fear he had had during the past few months poured out of him and that only made the shame burn brighter; his skin prickling with heat as he realised he had just shown Draco what an insecure wreck he was.

"You know about the letter," Draco said, breaking through the heavy silence.

Harry just nodded, not trusting his voice, as he clenched his fingers around the folds in his shirt, trying to stop crying, but the tears just kept coming.

"I don't know how you heard about it, but let me make one thing clear: I'm not and will never be interested in marrying Greengrass," Draco stated strongly, his gaze steadfast as he looked at Harry. "Nor am I interested in marrying anyone else. When I marry, it's going to be you who I meet at the altar and it's going to be you who's going to wear my ring. Nobody else. There is nobody in this world who can even hope to come close to who you are. I love you, Harry, and that's not going to change. You're still beautiful to me."

"But I - "

"I don't want you to perform this ritual," Draco continued, his voice becoming even stronger. "Just as you don't want to lose me, I don't want to lose you. I can't have you taking that risk, Harry. It's not worth it. We're going to get through this without you having to resort to dangerous rituals. You don't have to change a thing about you, okay? I don't care that you don't know your way around the Purebloods; I fell in love with you because of who you are, not because you know how to act around Purebloods. Don't be stupid. I don't care that you have scars – to me they're just proof that you're stronger than anyone else, that nothing and nobody can take you down. If I have to spend every day of the rest of our lives convincing you that you are beautiful and desirable then I'll do it. Because you are."

Suddenly Draco was standing in front of him, tenderly brushing away the tears with his thumbs as he cradled Harry's cheeks in his hands. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever seen, Harry," he whispered lovingly, sincerely, and bent closer. "Will you allow me to show you how beautiful you are?"

One word. He just had to say one word and Draco would retreat, Harry knew. He wouldn't force himself upon Harry, would never hurt him, but left the choice up to Harry. They were both teetering on the edge of the cliff, Draco's words spinning around them.

Harry let himself fall, trusting Draco to catch him.

* * *

A soft breeze slipped through the cracked open window, made the curtains rustle and tickled across bare skin. The sun was slowly setting, casting red orange rays across the wall.

The sheets on the bed were pushed back, nearly falling on the floor, draped haphazardly over the back of the bed.

Harry was lying on his back with Draco hovering above him; both completely naked for the first time since months.

"Let me take care of you," Draco had whispered as he slowly removed every article of clothing that had kept Harry's skin hidden from his eyes. The clothes – both his and Draco's – had been carelessly dropped on the floor before the blond man had pushed him back on the bed, coming to kneel between Harry's spread legs.

At first they did nothing but kiss. Their lips slowly rubbing against each other, tips of tongues occasionally peeking out, wetting their mouths, before they gradually deepened their kiss. Lips parted with a soft gasp and tongues tentatively met each other in the middle before growing a bit bolder and curling around each other. A surprised moan was torn out of Harry's throat when Draco sucked lightly on his tongue and he felt the blond man smile against his lips.

They broke apart with a wet sound and Harry was left softly gasping for air as Draco pressed tender, light kisses all over his face: lips landed on his forehead, smoothing out the faint frown there, before dipping down to place a playful kiss on the tip of his nose. Then lips brushed across his right cheek and then his left, seemingly not bothered by the rough ridges of the scar there. A tongue lapped up a few stray tears escaping green eyes before a mouth slipped lower, kissing Harry's chin. Another soft kiss was pressed on Harry's lips before Draco changed his track to Harry's neck where he licked and sucked on the places he knew to be very sensitive.

By the time he released Harry's neck, the younger man was breathing harshly; blood rushing loudly through his veins and he felt his cheeks warm at the look of pure desire burning in grey eyes.

Fingers caressed his face lovingly before dipping down to stroke his neck, shoulders and arms. Harry raised his arms, intent on returning the sentiment, but Draco shook his head with a smile and pressed his arms down again.

"No, not now. Tonight I want to make you feel good," Draco murmured; his fingernails raking teasingly over Harry's chest, leaving goose bumps in their wake.

"But I feel good when I touch you," Harry blurted out, blushing fiercely when his brain caught up to what he had said.

A hint of laughter shone through Draco's voice as he said, "I'm glad to know that. But for tonight, you just have to relax and let me make you feel good."

He brushed a kiss on Harry's closed eyelids. "I love your eyes. I love the way they change colour depending on how you feel. I especially love how dark they become when I'm making you feel good," Draco smiled and his smile deepened when Harry reddened.

"I love your lips. They're perfect for kissing and I love arguing with you," the blond continued with a chuckle, pressing a deep kiss on Harry's mouth.

Before Harry could deepen the kiss, Draco pulled back and the dark haired man felt helpless under the onslaught of compliments and hands brushing and stroking and caressing his skin.

"I love your cheekbones." A kiss on each cheek. "I love your face, how expressive you are."

Hands caressed his arms, dancing across muscles. "I love your arms, how strong you are. I feel safe when you wrap them around me."

Kisses pressed on each hand. "I love your hands. They're hands of an artist, delicate yet strong. I love seeing you cast magic."

A wicked grin played around Draco's lips as his tongue licked a path between Harry's nipples; they pebbled right underneath his touch and Harry couldn't supress a moan as the buds each were lavished with attention. "I love your chest. I love how sensitive you are here. I like knowing I'm the only one who can make you scream with pleasure."

Hands dipped down to his stomach, stroking and caressing the skin there, teasing him, before those devious hands skipped his hardened cock, and instead focused on his legs. Fingers dug into his thighs, his lower legs, pressing against the muscles there before they caressed him lightly making him shiver with pleasure.

"I love your legs. They're strong and fast." Draco smirked. "I especially love it when they're wrapped around me as I thrust in you."

A loud moan escaped Harry when hands slipped underneath him and grabbed his arse cheeks, kneading them softly. "I love your arse. It's a very fine one and I love knowing I'm the only one who's allowed to grab it and have my way with it," Draco whispered and came back to steal another kiss from Harry.

At this point his mouth felt quite swollen and bruised and Harry loved it.

Fingers dipped down into a jar of lubrication and came back up with the glistening substance. Draco gripped Harry's right hand with his own left one as his right hand disappeared between Harry's legs, dipping between his cheeks and circling around his hole, brushing teasingly over it.

"I love the sounds you make," Draco murmured as Harry gasped softly when one finger slipped inside, breaching his body for the first time in months. "I love feeling your body move when I touch you. I love seeing your skin flush."

 _Harry was going out of his mind_. Draco's fingers were gently opening him up, slipping deep inside so they could stretch his muscles and the sensation of having those fingers move in him was driving him mad.

Pleasure was wrecking his body, his muscles tensing and relaxing as Draco kept murmuring compliments, kissing him whenever he could, stealing his breath away.

Then those fingers disappeared, leaving him empty, and Harry whined, arms shooting out to wrap around Draco's neck in case the blond had any ideas of leaving him like this.

"I'm here," Draco murmured as he gently pulled Harry's legs around his waist; the tip of his cock resting against Harry's stretched opening. "I'm not leaving you. Not ever."

Green eyes shot open, staring wide eyed at the ceiling as Draco sank in him, filling him up completely, stretching him even more than the fingers had done. Filling Harry so thoroughly that the dark haired man had no choice but to accept him, let him inside in him, both his mind and body.

"I love knowing that I'm the only one who can see you like this," Draco started to pant as his thrusts picked up speed. "I love knowing that I'm the only one who can drive you crazy. That I'm the only one who has the privilege of having you like this."

Harry couldn't answer even if he had wanted to. He could only whimper and moan, eyes closed as the pleasure crashed into him, overloading his senses.

His mouth dropped open, no sound escaping him, when it all became too much and he exploded, his body trembling and shivering violently as he coated both him and Draco's stomach with his essence.

Green eyes, pupils blown out, caught burning grey and Draco cursed, his hips stuttering to a stop, as he filled Harry with his seed; their mouths sloppily moving against each other.

They laid there panting, their hearts beating madly, until they finally got their bearings back and Draco pulled back carefully, dropping down next to Harry and pulling him into his arms, heedless of the way their sweaty skin stuck together.

"I say it again and again and will proof it over and over again, as many times as you need me to," Draco said softly, a hand cupping Harry's left cheek tenderly. "I love you and nothing is ever going to change that."

This time the tears that escaped Harry no longer carried a trace of sorrow and shame.

He had let himself fall off the cliff and Draco had been there to catch him.

Just like he had promised he would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: So what do you guys think? I'm a bit worried about the last scene, but I wanted to portray that Harry is finally starting to allow himself to actually believe Draco. He still has a way to go before he's entirely at ease with himself, but he finally took the first step here.
> 
> At least that's what I wanted to portray and I hope that came across *winces* Please leave your thoughts behind in a review; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> Next chapter will be the last and will feature the epilogue.
> 
> I hope to see you all in the last chapter again!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


	8. Part 8: Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: When I started writing this chapter, I figured I would barely reach 3K. Somehow it nearly evolved into 6K *coughs* Well, at least it's not too short, right? ^^;
> 
> We have arrived at the end; this is officially the last part of the story. With this it's finally finished. Thank you all for giving this story a chance despite the heavy themes in it. Thanks for supporting me through the end. I really appreciate it.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and the comments! They really make me happy!
> 
> Warnings: explanation of the organisation (sorry if it's boring); some angst; set a few years in the future; flashback; more lighthearted than the rest; MPreg
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling owns it.
> 
> For the last time in this story: I hope you'll like it!

_Part 8: Epilogue_

"M-my friend told me about this – this organisation," Helena Wartwick stammered; her long, chestnut brown hair falling across her face like a curtain. She was looking down, nervously twisting her sleeves around her wrists. "I – I didn't know where else to go. I d-don't have a lot of m-money, but I pr-promise I can pay!"

"Don't worry about money right now," Harry said soothingly and plucked an empty file out of the cabinet behind him. Each empty file contained five sheets of parchment, ready to be filled in with the client's information. "Getting you the right potions is more important now. Now can you tell me what exactly happened to you and which potions you need? We'll go over the list together, okay?"

She nodded uncertainly, vibrating with nerves, and her voice shook and faltered as she slowly explained what kind of attack had caused her legs to be badly burned and the nerves in them badly twisted, causing her constant agony whenever she moved.

Harry listened attentively, jotting down every piece of important information she offered. He didn't rush her and waited patiently for her to finish her story. She nearly hyperventilated at some point, but he managed to bring her out of it, kneeling next to her until she had calmed down again and was ready to resume her story.

When she left three hours later, she had a document clenched against her chest which contained a list of potions she would need to be able to function in daily life. All she would have to do was show the list to one of the three Potion Masters manning the Potion Cabinet and she would receive her potions immediately. Her dark blue eyes were red rimmed from the crying she had done earlier, but the smile she threw Harry before she left was tentatively light.

She would get through this; she was a strong woman, of that he was certain.

He closed her file and flicked his wand at one of the cabinets covering the right wall from view. The fourth drawer sprang open and the file neatly slipped between others, automatically ordered alphabetically.

Rolling his shoulders to get some kinks out of it, he slowly exhaled, enjoying the silence in his office. The Sound Cancel Charm ensured that outside noise couldn't reach the room, but others couldn't listen in on the conversations taking place here either. Privacy was something he thought to be very important so every step had been taken to ensure that the clients of Ascar didn't need to worry about their private lives leaking out.

Ascar was short for Affordable Care for Scars; it was the organisation Harry had set up three years ago, ten months after he had been attacked. The name might be odd, but he had wanted something that clearly stated what his organisation was meant for and after various nights of brainstorming he had eventually come up with that name, forming the acronym almost immediately afterwards.

One year after the start it had become quite well known and today Harry had quite the extensive client base with new clients being added every week. Ascar was essentially comprised out of two departments: the Potion Cabinet where people could receive their needed potions at a decent rate, adjusted to an amount they could afford to pay and the Level Mind Floor where people could speak to specialised Healers and receive the needed support to work through whatever psychological problems they experienced due to the scarring they had received.

The Level Mind Floor consisted out of several groups people could join depending on which issue they wanted to work on. Group A was meant for people with low self-esteem who needed help with coming to terms how they looked like now or felt like. Through exercises and private sessions the Healer worked on restoring their self-esteem. Group B taught people ways how to deal with the sudden changes in their lives that the scarring brought with it. Group C was for people whose magic acted out due to their wounds; they learnt how to better control their magic and made it do what they wanted it to do and not the other way around.

In Group D people could talk with a Healer if they simply needed to get something of their chest and they couldn't – for whatever reason – talk about it with either friends or family. No matter what they wanted to discuss, whether it was tied to them being scarred or simply because they needed someone to listen, they found a listening ear there.

Group E was special in the sense that it didn't offer any help for the mind, but it was focused on the physical aspect. People could go there to relearn how to walk if they had been immobile for a long time. The Healer helped them stretch their muscles to prevent them from further deteriorating, aided them in moving around; in short gave them the necessary tools to move independently again.

It hadn't been easy to find Healers willing to work for the organisation only. Given the amount of clients it wasn't feasible for a Healer to combine their work at the organisation with that of the hospital. Added to that was the fact that they needed specific knowledge depending on which group they wanted to lead and the majority of the Healers Harry had interviewed had only had the basic knowledge.

Honestly Harry had started to despair whether he would ever find Healers suitable for his organisation. That was until Narcissa had reached out to her contacts in Germany, France and several other countries. Harry hadn't even known how extensive the Malfoys' network was actually until word had spread out about his organisation and he had been flooded with letters of Healers interested in joining him.

In the end he had weeded out the applicants until two Healers for each group remained, having decided that two people manning each group would divide the workload better.

Finding Potion Masters for the Potion Cabinet had been both easy and difficult. Easy in the sense that he already had a Potion Master willing to work with him – that being Draco who had looked offended at the idea that Harry might not have asked him – and Potion Masters working for the organisation only had to have knowledge of potions. They didn't need any specialised knowledge like the Healers were obliged to have. The only requisite had been that they needed to be willing to brew every potion found in the organisation's list. If they could develop new potions that would even be better.

Despite the fact that Potion Masters didn't need to have any special knowledge, Harry had had a difficult time finding ones willing to work with him. Most Potion Masters were used to brewing potions privately and asking huge sums of the buyer if they decided that a particular potion was expensive.

Considering the fact that Ascar didn't label their potions with expensive prices in order to give people who were less fortunate actually a chance to buy their needed potions, not many Potion Masters had been interested in working with Harry. They sneered at the thought of selling their potions at a cheap price and adamantly refused to work for the organisation.

Having a partner who moved around in high social circles did have its benefits, though, even if Harry was reluctant to admit that. During one of the gatherings Draco had asked around if anyone knew a Potion Master interested in working for the organisation and the inquiry had even reached other gatherings in Scotland and Ireland.

It had remained quiet for nearly a month until Harry had woken up on a warm September morning, a month before the organisation would officially invite clients, and found ten letters from Potion Masters spread out over the entire United Kingdom.

Draco had helped him wade through the selection and had conducted the interviews with Harry sitting next to him. Having only the most basic skills in potions, Harry had left it up to Draco to discern whether or not the woman or man in front of them would make a good fit for the organisation.

Eventually two Potion Masters – a man named Liam Willems and a woman named Kathrine Moonshine – had survived the selection with a third guy (a greying man named Henry Phils) springing in whenever a shortage of some potions threatened to happen.

On the thirty-first of October, ten months after Greenling had attacked him, Ascar officially opened its business for people with permanent scars and or injuries. At first people had been rather hesitant, clearly uncertain what to think of the new organisation, but once word got out from people who had become clients and were happy with the treatment they received, the organisation bloomed, shocking everyone who had criticised the idea.

Leading an organisation of this size and chasing criminals had become impossible after a while and Harry had made the decision to resign at the Ministry seven months after he started leading Ascar. Kingsley had been disappointed to have one of his best Aurors resign – especially when Harry had been on track to becoming the youngest Head Auror in history – but he had accepted it and even sent Aurors to Harry's organisation if they sustained heavy injuries during a mission.

Draco had been quite ecstatic when Harry had announced that he would retire from being an Auror. He had never really hidden his dislike about Harry risking his life during missions, but had quietly confessed that he was very relieved that the dark haired man would stop chasing criminals in exchange for leading Ascar.

Harry was the one who welcomed new clients and kept their personal information in files. He explained what options they had depending on the injury or scar and made sure to keep their files up to date. Hermione sometimes helped him if he had a lot of appointments waiting for him.

Some people only needed the organisation's help for a short time; the potions and aid they received enough to get them through a hard time. Others were likely to need the organisation for years and either was fine.

Harry just wanted to help people in a similar situation like his and it gave him a good feeling to see the wonder on their faces when they experienced no pain for the first time in a long while or the grateful smiles when they realised that they could actually afford their potions now. He might not make the world safer anymore by catching criminals, but he was making people's lives better by providing the care they desperately needed and somehow that felt even better.

A knock on the door jarred him out of his memories and he blinked, sitting up straighter. "Yes?"

Sofia Bealing popped her head inside; a small smile playing around her red tinted mouth. She was one of the two Healers appointed to lead Group C and she did that with such enthusiasm and sincere care that every client always left with a smile.

"I have finished my appointments for today, so I'm heading off, Harry," she announced, wrapping a sapphire blue scarf around her neck. She only lived a couple of streets away, so she preferred to walk if the weather wasn't too awful. "I'll be back tomorrow at eight thirty."

"Enjoy the rest of your day," Harry smiled and she waved before closing the door behind her again.

He would leave soon too; Helena Wartwick had been his last appointment for today and there wasn't any pressing task left.

Idly he rubbed his jaw and stilled when his index finger brushed against the jagged edges of his scar. Today it had been exactly three years since his face became heavily scarred due to the assault. The scars hadn't lessened; they still looked the same as they had done the day Healer Calling had removed the compression mask of his face before sending him home.

These scars were the main reason why he had set up his organisation. Being forced to live with the result of an attack, resigned to having people stare at him because of how he looked now, had made him realise that the Wizarding World wasn't really prepared to deal with people who had no hope of having their injuries or scars cured by potions or spells. There were people like him who had to live with the scars and injuries day after day, because magic couldn't solve everything. Despite the wonders magic could perform, it had its limits and that was something most wizards and witches didn't seem – or want – to realise.

With his organisation, Harry wanted to give people a place to belong, a place where they wouldn't have to worry they would be judged by how they looked like or move or spoke. Here they wouldn't have to worry that they couldn't afford their potions; in this place they had people ready to talk with them, provide them support that they might miss in their daily life. Here they were reminded that they were human beings just like everyone else, even if a part of their body or their entire body was marred.

Nobody looked down on them here or made fun of them or insulted them. They could be at ease here. Here they received the confirmation that they were _normal_ , not freaks like they feared they were.

Harry wished he could say he was completely confident again, that he no longer thought he was freak and had accepted his scars wholly. He hadn't. Not really. Maybe he would never accept them. There were days when he didn't want to get out of bed, had absolutely no desire to face the world and endure the stares and the whispers. Days when he could barely look at himself in the mirror without being overwhelmed by grief and fury at the same time, leaving him shaking and his magic buzzing closely to the surface.

Moments when he wondered whether Draco really hadn't been lying when he said he still loved Harry, that he still desired him and wanted to spend the rest of their lives with him.

Times when he wanted nothing but to claw at his face in hopes of finally ripping away those disgusting scars.

When he felt like he was drowning in a pool of pure helplessness and thinking he would never get out of it. Feeling utterly worthless and ugly, like the freak the Dursleys had often sneered he was. Insecurity wrapping its ugly tendrils around him, threatening to haul him down and hold him there.

It wasn't easy. It wasn't easy to look in the mirror and tell himself that he was strong, that he had survived this, that nobody would ever pull him down unless he let them. Difficult to assure himself that Draco loved him and wanted him, despite the scars. Almost impossible to believe that Draco had no problems touching him and kissing him, not the slightest hint of disgust tainting his silver grey eyes.

But then Draco would appear behind him, lock their eyes together in the mirror and wrap his arms around his waist, pressing their bodies closely together as he trailed kisses over every patch of skin he could reach, whispering, "I love you.", and it became more bearable; the dark thoughts sinking down once more.

Draco's kisses, touches and declarations of love weren't an instant cure-it-all for his insecurities. They couldn't erase all the dark thoughts immediately or restore his self-esteem fully once more.

But they helped. They worked as a reminder that he couldn't let the dark thoughts consume him; that he had someone who loved him even with all his flaws.

His journey was still long, but he was working on it. And bit by bit he would get better; he had to believe in that.

The weak January sunlight caught on something on his finger and a quick flash of gold danced across the opposite wall before Harry stirred and moved his hand out of the sun. Green eyes glanced down and unwillingly a soft smile blossomed open on his face as he gazed at the golden ring adorning his ring finger; a memory unfolding in his mind like a flower opening its petals in the morning.

_A salty breeze rustled the golden coloured sand; water rippled kissing the sand before retreating once more. The sunset cast a myriad of gold, purple, rose and red colours on the ocean; some lonely birds flew in the distance high in the air._

_There were only two people on the beach. A blond haired man talking softly to his lover; one of his hands idly caressing the other man's thigh as they sat on a large blanket._

" _Did you enjoy your birthday?" Draco inquired. Grey eyes glinted silver and blue as the dying sun fell on them._

_Harry placed his glass of champagne – one which was rather fruity and bubbly – behind him in the basket that had held both their lunch and dinner and smiled; his own hand resting closely against Draco's hip. "I loved it," he said and shivered when fingers briefly dipped down, slipping briefly underneath his short and caressing the sensitive skin there. "It's the best birthday I've had so far."_

" _I'm glad to hear that," Draco hummed and leant closer to kiss Harry softly; the sharp taste of the champagne lingering on his mouth making Harry's lips tingle pleasantly._

_When Harry had woken up this morning Draco had whisked him away to the closest Apparition point, which had landed them in a small alley somewhere in downtown London. An empty picture frame had been waiting for them on a low wall and when Harry had placed his fingers on it, the Portkey deposited them onto this beautiful, quiet beach. It belonged to the Malfoy family, Draco had explained as Harry looked around in wonder at the towering palm trees and flowers bursting with bright colours. It was a small island somewhere near the coast of France, warded heavily and hidden away from the Muggle world._

_For several hours they had explored the island; the blond content to follow Harry as he marvelled at the flowers and other plants he encountered on their path. Birds had chirped and tweeted and twittered madly in the trees and bushes and Harry had even seen something that looked like a fox rushing past them._

_Eventually they had wandered down to the beach where Draco had retrieved an elaborate and delicious lunch out of the basket he had brought with him; the food made up only out of Harry's favourite dishes. After they were done eating, they had explored the ocean, swimming and chasing each other. Their laughter had filled the air whenever one of them caught the other one and their kisses had tasted like salt._

_They had rested on the beach afterwards, exchanging lazy kisses and soft caresses; even falling asleep for a while. When they had woken up, Draco had brought their dinner out of the basket, displaying the various dishes between them. They each took turns feeding the other one and Harry had felt giddy as fingers brushed across lips and quick kisses were stolen between sips of champagne._

_Today honestly felt magical and it made Harry blush with pleasure that Draco had done all this just for him._

_Lips trailed softly across his right temple and Harry hummed when a warm hand settled on his hip; a thumb rubbing across his hipbone._

" _I have something for you," Draco murmured and his mouth retreated._

" _Hm?" Harry opened his eyes, not aware he had closed them in the first place, and gazed curiously at the blond wizard._

_Draco darted a quick smile at him before he leant past him and rummaged through the basket. Having just eaten dessert, Harry wondered what else the basket held if it wasn't food._

_He stilled when a small, dark blue box was presented to him, offered on a pale hand. With his other hand Draco slowly opened it, revealing a silver ring with three emeralds pressed into the band. The gems caught the sunlight and glittered faintly._

_Slowly Harry raised his head, staring speechlessly at Draco._

_Underneath his stare Draco straightened up, but he faced him with nothing but fierce determination. If he felt nervous, he didn't show it._

" _Harry, we've been together for two years now and we've had our ups and downs," Draco started; his voice ringing clearly in the air. The birds had gone silent; now there was nothing but the sound of wind and water accompanying them._

" _We have had fights that sometimes made me wonder whether that was it, that was the moment we couldn't go on anymore and would break up. But we didn't. No matter how fierce our arguments could get, we didn't let it get to us. We got through them and now we're here; still together. When I heard you were attacked - for one frightening moment I thought I had lost you." Draco swallowed and closed his eyes for a few seconds before he continued, "It was at that moment that I realised I couldn't imagine my life without you anymore. From the moment I heard of you, you had dug yourself a part into my mind and my heart even if you didn't know it at the time. I thought I had screwed up any chance I had when we met again on the train and I can't thank you enough for giving me a second chance. You didn't have to, but you did. The attack made me realise how afraid I am of losing you. It made me realise just how deeply you had ingrained yourself in my life and that thought should be scary, but it isn't. Not to me."_

_By now Harry's mouth hung open in shock and he was aware he must look like an idiot now, but his voice had left him and he couldn't seem to move, entranced by the words leaving Draco's lips._

" _Harry James Potter, I love you. I will always love you. I can't imagine the rest of my life without you and I don't even want to contemplate having you not in my life. You're the only one for me; the only one that I desire and want and I won't allow anything or anyone to take you away from me. Not an attack, nor scars. Nothing. You are the most beautiful person I have ever met, both in mind and body, and I only want to make you happy. I want to see you smile; I want those gorgeous green eyes to lit up with happiness and know I'm the cause of it. I want you to know that I will always be there for you, get you back up when you're down. I won't ever betray you or leave you; this I swear on my magic."_

_The ring was carefully plucked out of its small pillow and held up between thumb and index finger. Silver grey eyes locked onto emerald green ones solemnly. "Harry, will you do me the honour of marrying you?"_

_Tears trickled down Harry's cheeks, prickling his cheeks and obscuring his sight. Disbelief and wonder warred with each other until wonder and the overwhelming feeling of love for the blond man in front of him filled him to the brim and he rapidly nodded, laughing watery as he held out his hand._

" _Yes, I want to marry you!"_

_Grey eyes widened in amazement before a bright smile bloomed open on Draco's face, lightning it up and he slipped the ring around Harry's ring finger before tangling a hand in dark hair and drawing Harry closer to him._

_Their kiss was full of promise for the future._

They had married on the twentieth of January the next year. That date had been a deliberate decision on Harry's part. It was the day he had been attacked a year prior, but he was determined to not let Greenling win and had decided he would override the horror of that day by having his wedding on that same day. Now the twentieth of January was no longer simply the day he had been assaulted – it had become the day he had married the man he loved.

They had been married for two years now today and Harry knew they would only get better with each day that followed.

His wand vibrated with the Alarm Charm he had cast a few hours prior and he blinked, glancing at the clock on the left wall. Time to go then.

He had his own appointment with someone.

* * *

Parkinson blew a lock of her dark hair off her nose before it drifted back down and she impatiently pushed it behind her ear.

"Maybe hairpins can help," Harry remarked amused and chuckled when she shot him a dark look.

Interacting with the Malfoys had made him largely immune against glares; hers couldn't even come close to the venomous ones Draco could give someone if they pissed him off enough.

"I thought you helped the scarred people; since when are you in any place to give fashion advice, Potter?" she sneered and stepped back with an absentminded nod as she finished waving her wand. A piece of parchment popped into existence next to her on the table and writing slowly filled the blank surface.

He didn't feel offended by the rather callous remark. That was just how Parkinson was. He had started to get to know her better once it had become clear that the relationship between him and Draco was serious. His relationship with her was rather unique; they snipped and snapped and threw sharp jabs at each other, but unlike during their years in Hogwarts, there wasn't any real underlying hatred in their remarks to each other. It was simply how they interacted with each other. They hadn't hang out with each other a lot during the past few years, mainly because their jobs kept them both busy, but they were comfortable around each other.

She had also been one of the few who hadn't regarded him with disgust or pity after he had been attacked.

"I'm a jack-of-all-trades," Harry quipped dryly. "Giving fashion advice is but one of them."

"Uhuh." She threw him an unimpressed look. "Leave the fashion advice to either Blaise or Draco, Potter; they're much better suited for it," she drawled; her dark eyes trailing thoughtfully over the paper.

He leant forwards; curiosity burning brightly in him. "And?" he asked softly, growing solemn. His fingers wrapped themselves around the edges of the examination table.

She glanced at him and smirked; her white shirt crinkling when she shifted a bit, revealing a glimpse of her cleavage. "Don't know why you're worried so much. Did you really think it wouldn't take?"

"Magic can be unpredictable," he commented and shrugged, leaving it at that.

She nodded thoughtfully, reaching back to tie her long hair into a loose ponytail. "I guess that's true," she acquiesced and plucked the parchment of the table, brandishing it in front of Harry. "See for yourself."

A lump blocked his throat and he blinked some tears away, wiping them off with a trembling hand as he read the conclusion on the paper.

"Thanks, Parkinson," he said in a rough voice; eyes fixated on the parchment.

"Not like you didn't test it yourself first," she sighed and patted his shoulder. "Now get the hell out of my office. Your Gryffindor sentimentality makes me want to puke and I can't have that happening, Potter. These shoes are new and no way in hell am I going to fuck those up by barfing all over them."

Harry laughed and slid off the table, snatching his coat from the chair on his way to the door.

"Oh, and Potter?"

He looked back, quirking an eyebrow.

She was already seated behind her desk; a quill twirling between her slender fingers. She smirked, leaning her chin on her fist. "I expect pictures of when you tell him."

He left then, feeling lighter than ever before.

* * *

"I have something for you," Harry said, later that evening when he and Draco were curled up in bed. Both were only dressed in a shirt and boxers, but their shared body heat underneath the covers was more than enough to keep them protected against the cold draft sneaking into cracks near the window.

They would have to cast new protection charm on the walls with windows soon unless they wanted to waste heat.

"Another anniversary present?" Draco smiled bemused, leaning on his right side as his left hand trailed idly up and down over Harry's side. It brushed across Harry's ribs, before dipping down and stroking the skin around his hipbone and then going up again.

"You could say it's like that," Harry hummed and smiled secretly as he turned around, hearing Draco utter a sound of dismay when he no longer felt Harry's skin underneath his hand.

It didn't take long to find it. Earlier he had put it in the top drawer before preparing dinner. When he turned back around, he held a folded paper in his one hand and a small, clear bottle in his other hand. The bottle contained a dark pink liquid, but Harry's fist was closed around it, hiding the dark pink colour from view.

First he handed the paper over to Draco, who accepted it slowly. He regarded Harry curiously, but when Harry silently gestured for him to open the paper, he did so; grey eyes roving across the parchment as he read what was written on it.

Harry noticed the moment comprehension dawned on Draco and he smiled softly. The blond's head shot up and stared at him shocked.

"Are you – is this serious? Is this real?" he choked out, waving the paper in the air.

The dark haired man nodded and unfurled his fist, revealing the bottle. "I took the test yesterday and went to Parkinson this afternoon to confirm it," he said softly, watching how tears created glistening trails on Draco's cheeks as he stared in wonder at the bottle. "I'm – it's real, Draco. This is – I'm pregnant. I'm ten weeks far. You're going to be a father."

His breath left him in a soft 'whoosh' and he found himself on his back on the bed before he realised what was happening, blinking up at Draco who hovered above him with such a look of pure wonder and adoration that it made Harry's breath hitch. This time it was his turn to stare wide eyed at the other man.

"Fuck, I love you so much," Draco swore and hands cupped Harry's cheeks, framing his face, before a pair of lips hungrily devoured him, drowning him with the passion his husband was pouring into him. "I love you so god damn much! You're pregnant!" He laughed wildly, burying his face in Harry's neck as his body trembled. "You're having my baby! We're going to be parents!"

"Yes, we are," Harry smiled and blinked back tears of his own as he wrapped his arms around Draco's shoulders.

Three months ago they had decided to try and have a baby. They had talked about becoming pregnant for a while before that; Draco explaining all the options they had if they decided to go through with it. At first Harry had been reluctant – not because he didn't want children, but because his irrational mind had insisted that he couldn't subject his child to having a parent who looked like him. Children – and people in general sadly – could be quite vicious; what if his own child would be tormented because of how his dad looked like?

The moment those poisonous thoughts had slipped into his mind had been the same moment he had decided that he might need more professional help to deal with his insecurity and self-esteem issues. He had had several sessions with one of the Healers working at his organisation, working through his problems and talking about them. Mostly talking about them. Sometimes Draco had joined him, sometimes not.

They both had decided that as long as Harry was following the sessions and he didn't feel up to it yet, they would put their children wish on hold. It had been a frustrating, but necessary decision.

Harry needed to give those poisonous thoughts a place first and do his best to defeat them before he could start worrying about a potential child.

He had never been a quitter and while those dark thoughts still popped up, some weeks more than others, he felt more confident that he could actually deal with them, partly thanks to Draco's and his friends' never ending support.

Then the day had arrived that he felt actually ready for a child for the first time and after discussing it in even deeper detail, Draco had brewed the potion and Harry had ingested it. Being the more powerful one of the two when it came to magic, they had agreed that Harry would be the one to carry the baby in order to heighten their chances of success.

And now it had happened. He was pregnant; carrying their baby for ten weeks already.

It had been a long road for him and the journey wasn't over yet, but he was getting there. Slowly. One step at a time.

"I love you," Draco whispered and the shining, grey eyes drew Harry in.

"I love you too," he murmured and closed his eyes, feeling the love Draco had for him, for their baby, covering him like a blanket.

He wouldn't have it easy. There would be days when the darkness would threaten him, trying to drag him down. Days when he would question himself and everyone else who loved him.

But he would survive those days. He wouldn't let them win. He had Draco, their baby, Draco's parents, the Weasleys, his friends … He had support, people who would catch him should he fall.

He wasn't alone anymore.

Yes, he would get there, travel further on his journey with his loved ones at his side.

One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN2: I promised you all a happy ending, right? This fic had a lot of angst, but like I said: there's light at the end of the tunnel. Harry still has a way to go but he's going to get there; of that you can be sure.
> 
> I hope this chapter wasn't too bad ^^; Please leave your thoughts behind in a review for the last time; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> I hope to see you all in my future works!
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa

**Author's Note:**

> AN2: Prepare for a heavy fic, guys. There will be a happy ending, but it will take a bit before Harry reaches that ending.
> 
> Again, I don't want to hurt or offend anyone with this story.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought about it; should you spot any mistakes, please point them out to me.
> 
> See you all in the next chapter.
> 
> Cuddles
> 
> Melissa


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